


Apollo Retribution

by besanii



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Eponine's dead, I'll try to keep technical talk as correct as possible, Jaegers, Kaiju, Mecha, Multi, Pacific Rim - Freeform, creative liberties with descriptions, lots of death, more characters as story progresses, robots vs aliens basically, sorry - Freeform, the pacific rim au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years into the Kaiju War, Grantaire lost his co-pilot in the midst of battle.  Haunted by her death, he fled, hiding from the war and surviving on rations earned through manual labour.  Five years later, he is dragged back onto the frontline and forced to choose a new co-pilot: a talented young man with phenomenal test scores and zero battle experience, who still believes that the world can be saved.</p><p>AKA the Pacific Rim AU no one asked for (except me).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much inspired by the movie Pacific Rim. Plot, by and large, follows the movie as well, with some changes here and there depending on what suits best. I own nothing.
> 
> Thank you to fangirl-squee, without whom this would have never been written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of a Pacific Rim AU (the first ExR one on AO3 if I'm not mistaken)! I wrote this the very night after I watched the movie for the first time because nothing has inspired me like this for a very, very long time.

He fought the stiffness in his fingers as he brought the welder up to the steel fixture, burying into the collar of his coat to his nose.  The wind was at its most unforgiving here at the top of the Wall, bringing a sharp, salty ocean sting with every gust that threatened to dislodge him from his precarious perch.  Even the heat from the welder did nothing to abate the chill that had seeped into his bones from years of exposure to the elements.

This was his last task for the day.  The steel scaffolding for this stretch of the Wall was close to completion, which meant there would soon be less shifts for untrained labourers like himself - and less shifts meant less rations.  Once that happened -  _before_  it happened - he would have to move, to follow the construction sites as they progressed around the Rim, trying to stay abreast of the severe work shortage.

He turned off the welder, tucking it back into his tool belt, and pushed the protective mask back on his head with a sigh.  His face was damp - he was no longer sure whether it was sweat or the ocean spray - and his back was stiff with hours of tension.  He stretched backwards as far as he dared, feeling the satisfying cracks along his spine, and rolled his neck and shoulders with a soft groan.  He could grab a bite to eat from the poor excuse for a canteen and hunt for his next shift.

He secured himself onto the wiring that stretched along the height of the steel fixtures and lowered himself down to the next level.  The metal clamps of his harness hissed against the wires as he continued his progress towards the ground, mindful of obstructions blocking his path.  As soon as his feet touched solid pavement, he unhooked himself and stepped out of his harness, handing it over to the ground crew at the equipment office and clocking out.

A group of workers from his shift waved as he passed by and he lifted a hand in greeting.  He had no interest in talking - all he wanted was to be  _warm_ \- and they would undoubtedly ask him if he wanted to go to the pub with them, even though they  _knew_  he wouldn’t.  Or, rather, he  _couldn’t_.

Alcohol was expensive and for people like him, who could barely afford to feed himself on most days without chasing double shifts whenever he was able, it was a luxury he could no longer afford.  The money he had saved up all those years ago had gone towards supporting that vice and it had, for the first couple of years, until he was down to his last one hundred dollars and could barely lift his tools.

He’d forced himself to quit, had almost killed himself doing it, but he was able to work.  As long as he still required the ability to climb the scaffolding and use his tools to earn the rations he desperately needed, he would have to survive without the warmth of alcohol to dull the nightmares.

The small television set up in the corner of the canteen crackled to life while he waited in line for his rations, counting the tickets he had on hand.  It was an ancient thing, found in the dumping grounds on the outskirts of the city and resurrected by the technicians when it was clear the upper echelons would not provide funds for frivolities like  _entertainment_.  Not that there was much in terms of entertainment anymore.  It was always news, reports from the frontline, announcements by the government on the progress of the war - most of it censored, all of it dire.

“ _Another Incident has occurred in Tokyo_ ," the news anchor was saying.  He continued to focus on his ration tickets.   _"The Kaiju, which reports have confirmed to be a Category IV, was able to breach the Wall and enter the Bay before it was subdued by the Jaeger, Rhea Strife.  We cut across live, now, to the pilots…_ ” _  
_

There was a long moment of silence as everyone in the canteen fixed the television set with expressions varying from shock, to despair, to outrage.  On screen, the two pilots - a young man and woman - were speaking to the camera.  Behind them, hundreds of people had congregated, chanting and waving protest signs.

"… _the people have begun rallying against the PPDC’s decision to cancel the Jaeger Project, which was announced earlier this year._ ” _  
_

"What good is the Wall for, if it won’t keep those monsters out?!" someone shouted in a hoarse voice.  "It’s not gonna protect us, is it?!"

As the people around him started to join in the protesting as well, he took his rations from the servers with a terse nod, barely sparing the television a glance.  The pilots were no longer on the screen, replaced instead by footage of the Wall’s destruction.  The voiceover on the footage was quoting the PPDC, who said that improvements were being made to the Wall, now that they knew it could not withstand an attack from a Category IV Kaiju.

He left the shabby tin building, the start of a headache blooming.  He massaged the corners of his eyes to no avail, opting instead to find somewhere quieter to eat.

"Hey, Grant, there’s someone looking for you!" one of the foremen shouted.  Grant turned back to see who had spoken.  "He says he’s an old friend!"

Grant was momentarily confused - he did not recall having ‘old friends’, at least not ones who would know he was here.  He opened his mouth to reply, when a looming figure appeared in the doorway of the makeshift caravan-turned-office behind the foreman.  He froze.

"Grantaire," the newcomer said with a polite nod.  "So this is where you’ve been hiding."

Grantaire could only nod once, shakily, in response to the greeting.  The foreman looked between the two of them, curiosity evident in his expression, but slinked back into the office when it was clear neither of them were about to speak.  Grantaire cleared his throat and fiddled with the sleeves of his worn jacket.

"Marshal Valjean."

Valjean’s army-issued boots fell in heavy thuds against the ground as he approached Grantaire.  For one fleeting moment, Grantaire allowed himself a pang of envy at the Marshal’s thick, black coat compared to the thin, barely serviceable scrap of cloth he wore on his back.  Material of that quality had not been available to the general public for years.

"We’ve been looking for you," Valjean told him severely.  He stopped about a metre away.  "They were not pleased to find you had abandoned the Project."

"There  _is_  no Project." The words were bitter on his tongue.

"No, not anymore," Valjean agreed.  "But there are still things to do, nonetheless."

Grantaire scoffed.

"What things? The Wall is a complete waste of valuable resources and the Jaeger Project isn’t being funded anymore.  What more is there to do?"

"Walk with me, Grantaire."

The Marshal turned on his heel and started walking, away from the construction site.  Frustrated, Grantaire could only follow.  They passed through the iron fencing that surrounded the site, where a helicopter was waiting for them on the stretch of grass just beyond the exit.  Valjean stopped them just before they reached the craft and fixed Grantaire with a pointed look.

"I’m sure you’ve heard the reports by now," he said.  "Just a few hours ago, a Category IV Kaiju almost destroyed Tokyo _again_.  This isn’t the first Category IV that’s come through and it won’t be the last - and we need to be prepared for whatever’s next."

"I’m sure the PPDC would have something figured out by the time the next one appears," Grantaire said, waving one hand dismissively.

“ _We don’t have time_." Valjean folded his arms over his chest and glared.  "The gap between Incidents is growing shorter and shorter.  Twelve years ago, we would’ve seen an Incident every year or so.  Years have become months, months, weeks and now we can expect another Incident in a matter of  _days_."

His expression softened.

"We’ve lost twenty six Jaegers over the last five years you’ve been gone," he said quietly.  "Twenty six Jaegers and their crew - dead."

 _Twenty six._ Grantaire could barely contain his dismay and shock.  Losing one Jaeger in a battle was already a hefty price to pay.  Twenty six Jaegers and fifty two pilots - people who had been his friends, once - gone and the world was once again left without a saviour.  He turned away, convincing himself that the burning behind his eyes was residual from his shift on the Wall.

"We only have five, fully-functional Jaegers left.  One of them is a Mark III, I’m sure you’ll recognise it."

"I won’t do it."  Grantaire’s eyes never left the ground.  He clenched his fists.  "I won’t."

"All the other Mark III pilots are dead.  There’s no one else."  Valjean reached out to take his elbow.  "I’m sorry, Grantaire."

"I  _can’t_ ," Grantaire rasped.  He shook his head.  "Not again."

He still had nightmares about it.  Not of the battles, nor the violence, but the terrifying exhilaration that was Drifting.  Of opening up his mind to another person, of becoming  _one_ with them - he couldn’t, not now, not after -

"You have to," Valjean told him firmly.  "There’s no one else."

"I  _can’t_." Desperation seeped into his voice.  "I’m sorry, Marshal, I just  _can’t_.  You don’t understand.  I can’t do it again - can’t let someone into my mind like that anymore.  Please don’t make me -"

"Cosette."  The name, spoken so softly, carried with it a crushing weight.  Grantaire trailed off mid-sentence and raised his eyes.  Valjean looked grief-stricken but determined.  "Cosette is piloting Daphne Justice."

In his mind’s eye, Grantaire could see the slight wisp of a girl who had trailed after him during training, long hair pulled back into a high ponytail, insistent on being a part of Ranger training.  She would not be so young now and had always been highly skilled, but it was difficult to imagine Valjean desperate enough to place his only child on the frontline when they were all the other had left in the world.  He swallowed thickly, protestations dying on his lips.

"You have to know this, Grantaire," Valjean said.  " _There is no one left_.  I know losing Eponine was hard, but the frequency of Incidents is set to increase exponentially in the near future and we need everyone we can get."

"Devastating."

"Pardon?"

"Devastating," Grantaire repeated.  He cleared his throat.  "Losing Eponine - it wasn’t just hard.  It was devastating."

"Grantaire…"

"We were still linked.  She couldn’t disengage in time.  Did Javert ever tell you?  No, I don’t suppose he would.  I felt  _everything_.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel someone die in the middle of a Drift?"  He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.  "I don’t know if I can bear it."

Large hands gripped his shoulders, forcing his head back up.  The expression on Valjean’s face was tender and sympathetic and Grantaire felt something twist in his stomach.

"Grantaire.  You and Eponine are as dear to me as my own flesh and blood.  Losing her, and then you, in such a short space of time caused me unimaginable pain.  But this is a war.   There are people we need to protect, a world we need to defend.  You have had five years to grieve, my son.  It’s time to make peace with her memory and come home."

Grantaire took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled.  His hands came up to grasp Valjean’s wrists where they rested on his shoulders.

"What if we can’t?" he whispered.  The vulnerability in his eyes made him look so much younger than his twenty five years.  "What if nothing we do makes a difference?"

"Then we keep on trying," Valjean replied.  His smile was tinged with sorrow.  "We keep trying because this is our duty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire arrives at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, but not without some complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, guys! <3 Here's chapter two, a little behind my initial scheduling due to character complications, but here it is nonetheless!
> 
> Also, I can't promise updates so close together in the future, but I will try. Just, you know, real life takes priority.

He spent the entirety of the flight wrapped around himself in a seat in the corner of the small cabin, staring pensively out the window at the rain.  It had started almost as soon as they’d taken off, as if the heavens were determined to impede their journey, and he could barely make out the looming structure of the Wall as they passed over it.  He thought that, if he looked hard enough, he would be able to see the damaged stretch where the Category IV had struck.

That wasn’t true, of course.  It was a wonder they could see ten metres in front of them, let alone all the way across the Rim, but he still liked to pretend.

Valjean was up in the cockpit, deep in conference with the pilot.  They spoke in hushed voices, the Marshal making the slightest of gestures as he spoke, looming over the pilot with his larger stature.  Grantaire had found Valjean’s towering height and greater build intimidating once, when he was but a child starting his training.  That was a very, very long time ago.

He shifted in his seat, the hard plastic digging into his lower back uncomfortably when he pulled his tattered coat closer around him and tried to settle down for a nap.  The flight from Sydney to Hong Kong, where the first and last of the Shatterdomes was located, was over nine hours and he had just finished a double shift on the Wall before they set off.  He doubted very much that there would be time to rest once they reached their destination.

  
  


_Grantaire?_

_Grantaire, I want you to listen to me -_

  
  


Pain shot up his left arm and flared in his shoulder.  He woke up with a strangled gasp, his right hand already clutching at the source of pain as if by instinct.  His chest felt constricted and each breath felt as though he had to forcibly ram it into his lungs.  The pain in his shoulder had faded to a dull ache, only -

"I can’t feel my arm."  He tried to flex his fingers and was met with no response.  " _I can’t feel my arm_."

"Grantaire?"

Valjean’s face appeared in his line of vision, hazy around the edges.  He could see Valjean’s mouth moving and his lips forming his name over and over again, but he couldn’t hear over the pounding in his head and the roaring in his ears.  He clawed at his left arm frantically and cried in frustration when his fingers snagged on the folds of his jacket.

"I can’t -  _damn it_  -  _why can’t I feel my arm_?" he said through clenched teeth.  "It’s gone it’s gone it’s gone -  _why is it gone_?"

"Grantaire!" Valjean’s voice was like a whip, lashing out through the haze of his panicked consciousness.  "It’s fine.  You’re fine.  Look at your arm.  It’s still there.  That’s it - deep breaths."

He shook off the last of the fogginess with great effort and found himself curled up on the seat, wide-eyed and staring at Valjean.  The Marshal caught his return to consciousness and gave him a reassuring smile.

"You’re fine, Grantaire," he repeated.  "Everything’s fine.  It was just a panic attack.  Is it alright if I take your hands?"

Grantaire forced himself to nod.  Valjean slowly reached over and took both his hands, bringing them up to his sight.

"Look at your hands."  He gently rotated the left hand from side to side, then bent and stretched the whole arm.  "Can you feel that?  It’s still there.  It still moves."

He continued to talk softly to Grantaire, never letting go of his hands, periodically moving them to assure Grantaire they were still functional.  His voice was low and soothing and Grantaire let it wash over him in gentle waves until the tightness in his chest eased and his breathing returned to normal.  He took one last, shuddering breath and raised his head to face Valjean.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.  Valjean shook his head and reached a hand around to clasp the back of Grantaire’s neck.

"No, my son, never apologise.  Not for this."  He brought their foreheads to rest together.  "Do you want to talk about it?"

Grantaire opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat.  He coughed and shook his head quickly to cover up his hesitation.  Valjean sat back on his heels and regarded him quietly, as if he were not sure whether to believe him or not.  After a long moment, he smiled and stood.

"Alright then.  I’ll bring you something to drink."  He glanced out the window and frowned.  "It looks like the weather’s clearing, at least.  It’s almost typhoon season in Hong Kong, so this may be the last bit of good weather we’re going to have for a while."

He passed a bottle of water over and Grantaire took it from him, unscrewing the cap with unsteady hands.  He drank deeply, grateful for the coolness of the water trickling down his parched throat.  Valjean had moved back to the front of the cabin, once again starting up a conversation with the pilot, blocking their view of Grantaire sitting behind them, for which Grantaire was grateful.  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and capped the bottle.

Outside, the Shatterdome came into view.  It was a large, sprawling structure that spread across the entire cliff-face, opening up to the ocean through six massive gates several hundred feet high, large enough for a Jaeger to pass through.  The main facility rose from the centre of the island in a dome, its low arc only just visible over the top of the launch gates.  It was a bleak, totalitarian structure, all concrete and metal and practical defences and it reminded Grantaire of how much he hated Shatterdomes.

"Welcome to the last Shatterdome, kid," the pilot called back over his shoulder with a grin.  "Take a good look at it cos it might not be around for much longer!"

"Anchorage was more impressive," Grantaire replied without thinking.  He looked over to see the pilot and co-pilot staring at him in surprise.

"You’ve been to the Ice Box?" the co-pilot asked, eyebrows raised.

"I used to be stationed there," Grantaire told him.  Valjean chuckled.  "It was the coldest goddamned place in the world."

"Wait a sec," the co-pilot said, realisation dawning on his features.  "The Marshal called you Grantaire!  You’re the -"

“ _Prepare for landing_ ," Valjean said firmly, deflecting the conversation.  The co-pilot flushed and turned back to his controls.  "Alright, take us down boys."

 

-

 

No sooner had he stepped onto the tarmac, than he found himself with an armful of excited twenty year old girl with wavy blonde hair.  He gave the top of her head a gentle, awkward pat, which prompted her to pull away and greet him properly with a huge smile.

"Grantaire!  It’s so great to see you again!"  Behind Grantaire, still framed in the helicopter’s exit, Valjean cleared his throat.  She flushed.  "I mean, welcome to the Hong Kong Shatterdome, the last remaining stronghold of the former Jaeger Project."

"Cosette, little bird, I’ve been here before," Grantaire reminds her, unable to keep the smile from his face.  "And look how much you’ve grown!"

She flushed with pleasure and tossed her hair back over one shoulder.  She reached out and took his hand, tugging him towards the main building with another laugh.

"Come on, I’ll give you the full tour!"

He allowed himself to be dragged inside, pausing only to say goodbye to Valjean.  The Marshal was smiling as he watched them leave, every bit the doting father watching his children, reunited at last.  The thought of it warmed Grantaire’s heart and he turned back to Cosette to conceal the sudden burn in his eyes.

She led him through the entrance into the main foyer, weaving through the throng of people bustling to and fro with practised ease.  She kept up a running commentary as they progressed, occasionally stopping to chat with a few of the staff - technicians, Grantaire guessed, from the jumpsuits they wore - and to introduce him.

The reactions of the staff when they heard his name were almost always the same.  He endured the first couple of claims to being his biggest fan, growing more and more uncomfortable with each one, until Cosette steered them away from the main hangar.  He sighed, looking apologetic.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed.  "I’m not - well, it’s not what I expected."

She tightened her grip on his hand with a nod of understanding, but made no comment, for which he was grateful.  They made no more stops for conversation as she led him to the holding bay, the largest chamber in the heart of the dome.  He took in his surroundings - the soaring ceiling that almost disappeared as it formed the protective dome over the facility, the swarm of hundreds of workers transporting parts and materials, the sound of large machinery humming and beeping and whirring - with the strangest sense of coming home.

He banished that thought as quickly as it had come.  This wasn’t home.  Home was Sydney, its paved streets and open spaces and Christmas in summer.  Home was that quiet, safe place, with the people he trusted most and not this overcrowded,  _loud -_

They rounded the corner, behind one of the massive pillars that stretched up to the ceiling, and he stopped in his tracks, frozen in place at the achingly familiar sight. 

He’d forgotten how  _large_  Jaegers were.  He barely reached the top of one burnished foot, painted a vibrant scarlet and plated gold, and had to crane his neck to make out the Conn-Pod over the swell of the chest piece.  His gaze drifted down to the words emblazoned on the chest, words that had echoed in his dreams for the past five years.

 

  
  


_"Is this one ours?"_

_The dark haired girl next to him grinned over the fur-lined coat of her winter jacket.  They stood in front of the newly completed Jaeger, admiring its wintry blue paint job and silver plates._

_"It’s the first of the Mark III Jaegers, designed with the Alaskan climate in mind, and we get to pilot it!"_

_She gripped his forearm, eyes bright._

_"Don’t you want to know what his name is?"_

_Her excitement was infectious and he found himself matching her grin._

_"Well, go on then.  Tell me."_

  
  


"Apollo Retribution."

  
  


"I thought you would want to see him first."

He snapped out of his reverie at the sound of Cosette’s voice and turned to see a fond smile had touched her lips.  He returned it hesitantly.

"He looks beautiful," he said.  If Cosette heard the quiver in his voice, she made no mention of it.  "I thought…I thought they had put him in storage after the Knifehead Incident."

A new voice joined them, calling down from the upper landings near the Jaeger’s hip.

"He was."

Grantaire looked up to see a young man, dressed in black pants and a scarlet shirt to match the Jaeger’s plating, looking down at them.  He wore his blonde hair loosely tied, falling across his left shoulder, and was studying them with deep blue eyes.  Cosette waved to him.

"There you are!" she called.  "Come down here, I want to introduce you!"

He gave her a crooked smile and headed for the nearest ladder.  He was nimble and surefooted, scaling the thin ladder in record time and heading over to them.  The fact that he was attractive had not escaped Grantaire’s notice, but before he could process exactly what that thought entailed, Cosette was tugging on his arm again.

"Grantaire, this is Enjolras," she said.  The young man inclined his head.  "He’s overseeing the reconstruction and refurbishment of your Jaeger."

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Grantaire," Enjolras said, extending a hand.  He had a firm grip.  "I followed your career prior to your - ah,  _retirement,_  and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work on your Jaeger."

"You changed his colours."  The words were out before Grantaire could stop himself.  Enjolras looked confused.

"Well, yes.  It was part of the refurbishment."  He frowned.  "Is that a problem?"

"No, god no." Grantaire chuckled low in his throat.  "No, it’s…better.  It suits him - better than the old colour scheme, at least."

Cosette laughed in agreement, but Enjolras looked thoughtful.  He was looking intently at Grantaire, head cocked to one side as he studied the older man.  Grantaire, unnerved by the undivided attention he was receiving, turned to look at Cosette.

"Was anything else changed?" he joked.  "Did you change his name while I wasn’t here to veto the decision? Javert kept complaining about how it was a mouthful to say, but I’ve always liked it."

She shook her head, but Enjolras was the one who answered.

"No, his name is still the same."  Grantaire could still feel the heat of Enjolras’ eyes on him.  "A change was proposed but I… _advised_  against it."

Cosette let out an inelegant snort at the unusual emphasis on the word ‘advised’, but stayed her tongue against further comments.  Out of the corner of his eye, Grantaire could see the faintest hint of a flush dusting Enjolras’ cheeks, but the blonde said nothing either.  The silence stretched on, until it was broken by a string of shrill beeps from Cosette’s hip.

"Oh, that’s not good," she said, fishing out an intercom from her belt.  "I’m meant to meet Joly and Bossuet down in the research labs and I still haven’t shown you to your room yet!"

"I can take him," Enjolras offered, before Grantaire could interject.  He stepped closer, one hand brushing Grantaire’s elbow.  "You go on ahead, Cosette."

"No, it’s fine, I can find my own way -"

"I insist."

The pressure on Grantaire’s elbow increased, effectively silencing him from further protests.  Cosette eyed the two of them warily, but acquiesced to Enjolras’ offer with a smile and a wave.  Grantaire watched her go and wished he could go with her.  He stiffened when he felt, rather than heard, Enjolras’ words in his ear.

"Come, Grantaire, this way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire denies Enjolras' request and Joly and Bossuet explain their theory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er yeah this chapter is meh. I don't really like it. But it's necessary to the plot. I might make changes to it later...?

As soon as Cosette had vanished into the crowd, Grantaire extracted his arm from Enjolras’ grasp with a wince.  Enjolras was unfazed, moving his hand to settle on Grantaire’s back, between his shoulder blades.  He steered them left, in the opposite direction to where Cosette had headed, and through the vast steel doors.

"You know," Grantaire began, his eyes darting left and right nervously, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I can find my own way.  All the Shatterdomes have a similar layout - if you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all."

"And I’ve already said that I  _insist_ ," Enjolras replied, moving with a singular determination towards the dormitories.  "Besides, you have been assigned the room directly opposite my own."

“ _What_?"

They veered left again, the steel doors parting with a hiss when Enjolras punched in the access code.  It opened up to a long, winding corridor that branched off into many smaller ones, each labelled with layout coordinates.  That was, Grantaire supposed, the problem with larger Shatterdomes.  Everything was infinitely more complicated.  He shrugged off Enjolras’ hand, earning himself another frown.

"Listen, Enjolras - it’s Enjolras, right?"  He ran a hand through his curls, wincing as they caught on the knots that had accumulated over more than a day’s worth of negligence.  "I appreciate you extending a warm hand of friendship, or whatever this is, but I barely know you."

He waited for a reply, but Enjolras ignored him in favour of turning into another hallway.  Grantaire rolled his eyes and followed.

"You have to admit it’s really not fair," he continued, speaking to Enjolras’ back now because the blonde refused to look at him.  "You’ve obviously read my file.  You said you ‘followed’ my career - what does that even mean? Hey, I’m talking to you!"

Enjolras halted in front of a door labelled A-26.  He ascended the three steps in front of the raised doorframe and turned around to regard Grantaire with an impassive expression on his face.

"This is your room."  He nodded to the door behind Grantaire on the other side of the corridor.  "That room is mine."

He turned back around and grasped the wheel - the dormitories had been converted from old military storage units that retained an old lock system - giving it a firm pull.  It gave under his hand, turning smoothly, and he pushed open the heavy door.  The room inside was dimly lit and sparsely furnished, with a single bed pushed into a corner, a table with two chairs in the centre of the room, and a sink and mirror.

Grantaire entered the room after Enjolras, who closed the door after him and leaned against the wall while he acclimatised himself to his new lodgings.  He remained silent as Grantaire removed his jacket, draping it over the back of one chair, and splashed water on his face at the sink, the intent gaze following Grantaire’s every move.  It was, honestly, starting to make Grantaire uncomfortable.

"Alright, kid.  What is it?" he asked irritably, gripping the edge of the sink.  "You’re in my space and I barely know you.  What do you want from me?"

"I’m not a child," Enjolras said.  His left eye twitched.  "I’ll be twenty in a month." _  
_

"You’re still too young to be a fully qualified technician."

"I’m not."  Grantaire turned around to look at him in surprise.  Enjolras shrugged.  "Well, I  _am_  qualified as a technician, but I’m also a Ranger."

"You’re a Ranger," Grantaire repeated.  "Which one is yours?"

Enjolras flushed and clenched his jaw.

"None, yet."  He looked away with a frustrated sigh.  "I haven’t found a co-pilot who I work well with."

"You mean there’s no one in this Shatterdome who is Drift-compatible with a cocky, overconfident,  _untested_  trainee?  Big surprise there, kid."

“ _I’m not a child_ ," Enjolras repeated through gritted teeth.  "You were piloting Retribution when you were twenty!"

"No, I wasn’t."  Grantaire pulled out the closest chair, its wooden legs scraping heavily across the hard floor.  He threw himself gracelessly onto it and glared at Enjolras.  "By the time I was your age, I was a homeless tramp chasing shifts on the Wall for rations."

Enjolras froze, eyes wide, and Grantaire swore under his breath when he realised what he had said.  He clenched his jaw and they appraised each other in the silence of the room, neither one willing to concede, eyes locked on the other’s.  Finally, Enjolras reached over and pulled out the other chair, seating himself across from Grantaire.

"I want to fight," he said.  "I’ve trained for  _years_  to get here and now they’ve shut down the Jaeger Project.  You know as well as I do, the Wall is no defence against the Kaiju - we  _need_  the Jaegers.  But there are only five left and four of them already have pilots."

"So?" Grantaire raised an eyebrow.  "What exactly do you want from me?"

Enjolras stood up and leaned closer, closing the distance until he was only a breath away, braced on the table with both palms.  His eyes seemed to burn with a deep blue flame that left Grantaire suddenly breathless in its intensity.

"I’ve read your file, Grantaire, and studied your styles and strategies," Enjolras confessed.  He was trembling.  "We’re Drift-compatible, I know it."

"You want to be my co-pilot."  The younger man nodded.  Grantaire sighed, leaning back in his seat.  "It’s not up to me, you know."

"What?"

"Well, you didn’t expect me to just say yes, did you?"  The look on Enjolras’ face said everything.  Grantaire shook his head.  "You can’t just say we’re Drift-compatible and expect it to be so - that’s not how it works, kid.  You might want it more than anyone else in the entire, godforsaken world and you might be better than every other candidate in the universe, but if you can’t prove yourself compatible on a physical, mental  _and_  emotional level with the pilot - with  _me_  - then no amount of begging or coercing or bribery is going to get you into that Conn-Pod in anything more than a technician’s jumpsuit."

He knew the words had hit home when Enjolras visibly slumped and his head bowed.  The blonde said nothing for a long while, staring despondently at the table, until Grantaire thought he would have turned to stone if it were at all possible.

"Look," he said finally, “if you’re really serious about all this -"

"Tomorrow," Enjolras interrupted.  He lifted his gaze to Grantaire again, renewed determination in his eyes.  "The trials are tomorrow, right?  I’ll prove to you that I’m the best here."

"You’re really,  _completely_  missing the point here," Grantaire told him in exasperation.  "I’m going to give you some advice, because you sure as hell need it: Drifting isn’t about being ‘the best’ - but if that’s the way you’re going to approach it, then you can kiss your chances goodbye."

Enjolras was unfazed.  He walked around the table to the chair Grantaire was sitting in and placed both hands on the armrests.  He was less than a breath away, and when he spoke, his words reached Grantaire as a soft caress across his face.

"You will see."

With that, he straightened and left.  Grantaire remained frozen in his seat for a long while afterwards.

  


-

  


Cosette found him, two hours later, wandering the living quarters in search of the mess hall.  She laughed as he complained about the sheer size of the base, the winding corridors and the lack of distinction between separate areas.  He had, at one point, found himself in the disposal chamber and had had to double back through the main hangar.

"It’s a good thing Enjolras showed you to your room the first time round then," she said with another laugh.  "He seemed keen on you."

"Over-enthusiastic, more like."

"Well, that’s Enjolras for you."  She shrugged.  "He takes all of this very seriously, to the point where he gets a little too intense for the other trainees.  They’re all scared of him - it’s a shame, because he would make an amazing pilot."

She pushed open the door to the mess hall with a grin and waved him inside.  When he stepped through, he saw a small flight of stairs, no more than four steps in height, leading down to a large, concrete chamber filled with tables and benches.  Across the far wall, there were a row of ovens and heating trays for people to take food from.  She led him over to the end of the line forming at this far corner, handing him a plate from the stack.

"Is he that good then?" Grantaire asked as they waited.

"He’s recorded phenomenal scores on both physical and aptitude tests and his psych exams are unmatched," Cosette replied.  She spooned some of the goopy mashed potato onto her plate with a wet  _splat_.  "Up until now, Javert has been battling with Papa - I mean, the Marshal - about whether or not to let him qualify as a Ranger.  Javert thinks he’s ready, but the Marshal thinks he’s still got a bit to go."

"I can’t imagine why."

The mess hall was full to the brim with people, mostly sitting, although some were just loitering around in an attempt to kill time until their next shifts started.  There generally wasn’t a set lunch time, Cosette explained as they found seats at a table along the left side wall, but the staff all tried to make it between eleven in the morning and one.  The lunch freshly prepared in that time slot.  Grantaire made a mental note of that piece of information, smiled, and kept eating.

"Oh, there’s Joly and Bossuet," Cosette said suddenly. waving to two men who had just left the serving line.  "They’ve been wanting to meet you."

Joly was a tall, thin man with mousy brown hair and hazel eyes.  His faded blue button-down shirt was covered by a baggy yellow sweater underneath a long lab coat that fell to his knees.  He had a tension that seemed to have settled permanently on his brow, drawing across his face in deep-seated lines that aged him several years.

In contrast, Bossuet was broad shouldered, stocky and bald.  He wore a red plaid shirt with a thin black tie underneath his lab coat, the sleeves of which had been rolled up to his elbows to reveal a myriad of colourful tattoos on both forearms.  Mirth danced in his brown eyes as he greeted Cosette and Grantaire as if he’d just heard a particularly good joke.

"Heard something funny, Bossuet?" Cosette asked as they sat down in the seats opposite them.  Bossuet shook his head with a grin.

"Joly and I were debating about the possibility of Drifting with a Kaiju."

Grantaire’s fork clattered loudly on the plate midway to his mouth.  He stared at Bossuet in unabated horror.

"Why the hell would you want to do  _that_?"

Bossuet gave him a strange look.

"To study them, of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  "See, everyone thinks they’re mindless beasts who know nothing but how to kill.  But we’ve been studying their movements and there’s a  _pattern_  to their appearances.  Tell him, Joly."

Joly set down his utensils with a great sense of purpose.  He fixed his gaze on Grantaire and extended a hand.

"I’m Joly, head of research."

“ _Co-head_  of research," Bossuet interrupted.  He grinned and shook Grantaire’s hand.  "I’m Bossuet."

"Grantaire."  They settled back in their seats and picked up their forks.  "So…what exactly are you researching?"

Joly stabbed at his plate.

"There’s a pattern, you see, to their appearances.  I’ve almost got it down to the exact day, except -" and here, Joly set his fork down,  "except my calculations indicate that the next Incident should be a Double."

"A  _what_?"  Grantaire felt Cosette lay a restraining hand on his arm just as he was about to surge to his feet.  "What do you mean a  _Double_?   _Two_  of them at once?"

Joly’s face was answer enough.  Grantaire slumped back in his seat and brought his hands up to his face, trembling from head to foot.  The sounds of the mess hall were drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears and he struggled for breath, only partly aware of Cosette murmuring in his ear - soothing, nonsensical murmurs.  He shuddered and relaxed, the amplitude of the room fading back to normal.

"That’s why I’m thinking we need to find out what they’re planning -  _if_  they have a plan," Bossuet said.  They were both watching him carefully.  "We have a portion of a Kaiju’s brain salvaged from the Scissure Incident - we just need to work out how to establish a neural Bridge."

“ _And_ the risks involved," Joly added with another frown.  "It’s hard to explain here.  You could come down to the lab with us after lunch and we can walk you through it."

"No, no - thanks, but no thanks," Grantaire said quickly.  "I never really had the patience for research and numbers."

"Just as well, we’ve got backup coming in within the next week or so."  Bossuet shrugged.  "Former Head of Research from Anchorage, now part of LOCCENT Mission Control - maybe you know him?"

Grantaire allowed himself to smile.

"Yeah - yeah, I know him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night chat and then the trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spacing out updates from now on, but they'll keep coming! I'll post snippets of new chapters as I write them on [tumblr](http://besanii.tumblr.com/), so pop over there if you want posts about my progress! :)

The night brought with it a liveliness that reflected the bustling nightlife typical of Hong Kong.  Those who had families in the city returned home, others whose shifts began that night brought with them entertainment from the streets of Mong Kok and Kowloon.  The mess hall was alive with chatter and the smells of local cuisine.

In contrast, the main hangar was blessedly empty.  Grantaire wandered the dark chamber, admiring the different Jaegers within their containment cells.  He recognised only two - the bulky, green Mark I known as Kronos Alpha and blood-red Ares Victorious, a Mark II unit - from his early days as a Ranger.  He examined Cosette's own Jaeger, Daphne Justice, a Mark IV unit the colour of spring grass.  It was leaner, without the bulk and extraneous parts that previous models required for their nuclear cores.

"She's the fastest Jaeger ever built."

Grantaire watched as Enjolras emerged from behind Apollo, a grease-stained cloth slung across one shoulder.  His blonde hair was tied back from his face and he wore a gray jumpsuit, unbuttoned to reveal the red shirt he had been wearing earlier in the day.  He nodded in the direction of Daphne's cell.

"The pride and joy of the Lima Shatterdome.  Her armour weighs less than even Coyote Tango."  Enjolras smiled fondly at the Jaeger.  "She's lethal on the battlefield with Cosette and Musichetta at the helm."

"What are you doing here this late, Enjolras?"

"There were a couple of scratches that needed to be buffed out from Apollo's armour," Enjolras replied with a shrug.  "I like to do these things myself."

He tossed the rag onto a nearby workbench and started towards him.  Grantaire regarded his approach with wariness, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket.  Enjolras stopped a metre short of Grantaire, his eyes unreadable.

"Would you...like to see him?"

His words lingered in the air, an open invitation tinged with uncertainty that belied the confidence in his posture.  The noise outside did not reach the hangar and, for once, Grantaire wished for anything but the silence that hung heavily between them.  Enjolras offered his hand.

"Come, Grantaire, this way."

Grantaire followed him up one of the service ladders to one of the upper landings, near the Jaeger's shoulder.  They walked around to the back along the platform where he had first seen Enjolras earlier that day.  At Enjolras' behest, they seated themselves on the platform, legs dangling over the side of the railings.

"You've already seen the changes to the colour scheme, of course," Enjolras said.  He pointed downwards.  "See that?  There was a hole the size of a car there once."

"I remember."

"Ahh, yes, of course you do."  Enjolras sounded sheepish.  "Well, it now holds a retractable sword.  You can extract it in several ways - through the top, or at the wrist.  The sheath extends along the arm."

"But won't that stiffen the joints in the arm?" Grantaire asked, his curiosity piqued.  Enjolras perked up immediately, his eyes bright.

"No, see, the sword is broken down into segments when stored, and unless it's fully extended, it remains flexible for easy storage without impeding Apollo's movements."

He went on to explain the exact function of the various weapons that had been added to Apollo's vast array since the refurbishment, pointing out each one as he did.  Grantaire listened with rapt attention, eyes drawn to those elegant hands as they gestured.  Enjolras paused in his explanation of the cooling vents and flushed.

"You're staring.  Is something wrong?"

"No, no, sorry."  Grantaire felt his own cheeks warm.  He turned away.  "How long have you been working on him?"

"Since the decision was made to repair him.  I drew up the preliminary design and oversee most of the work."  He plucked at the zipper of his stained jumpsuit.  "I do most of my own hands-on work at night, though.  Less people around you know?"

"Yeah."  Grantaire laughed softly.  "I know."

Enjolras smiled again.

"I want him to be perfect," he said.  "I used the data from your file to make adjustments as I went.  Trying to make it as compatible with your style as possible."

Grantaire blinked with surprise.

"You  _do_ know I won't be piloting him on my own, don't you?  If you tailor Apollo's functions to suit me, it would be at a great disadvantage to my poor co-pilot."  He frowned at Enjolras.  "Wait, no - I get it.  You didn't just use  _my_  data - you included your own too, didn't you?"

The flush on Enjolras' cheeks darkened noticeably.  Grantaire shook his head.

"Your confidence is astounding."  He leaned against the railings with one elbow, the same hand propping up his chin.  "What happens if you fail?"

"I won't."  The certainty in Enjolras' voice bordered on defensive.  "You'll see."

"Fair enough."  He stretched his arms, linking his hands behind his head, and laid back on the platform.  "I  _would_  recommend you dust off your techniques with the Hanbo, though."

It was Enjolras' turn to blink.  Grantaire stared fixedly upon the vaulted ceiling, but the corners of his mouth tugged upwards.  It did not take long for the younger man to catch on to his meaning and, when he did, the smile that bloomed was the brightest Grantaire had ever seen.

  
  


-

  
  


He had risen before dawn to a stifling room and kicked off the covers that had tangled around his legs sometime during the night.  It took a moment for him to become fully aware of his surroundings, his neck and shoulders stiff from the softness of the bedding, the heaviness in his limbs extending to his head.

He forwent the mess hall, choosing instead to take his breakfast to the Combat Room.

The Kwoon Combat Room was a chamber situated above the main hangar.  The walls of the arena were lined with various training weapons, including an array of Apache knives, rapiers, staves and Eskrima sticks, and at its centre was a large training mat for close quarter combat training.  Fourteen hours a day were dedicated to training for those who wished to become Rangers - although, Grantaire supposed, this would have greatly reduced given the limited number of Jaegers available.

There was a tap on his shoulder.

"Mind if we join you?"

He whipped around at the familiar voice.  Standing behind him were two men and a woman, all wearing standard issue training gear: grey sweatpants and tank tops, with identical grins on their faces.  The one who had spoken was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a crown of messy black hair shaved at the base.  His companion was a wiry, lean redhead who sported tattoos down both arms and across his shoulder blades with an arm around the stocky, curvaceous brunette.

"Bahorel, Feuilly,  _Musichetta_."  Grantaire rose to his feet to embrace them one after the other.  "I wasn't expecting to see you guys here today."

"Feuilly and I got in late last night," Bahorel said, slapping him hard on the back.  "We're the last of the crew from Sydney."

"The last ones standing," Feuilly added with a wry grin.  Musichetta elbowed him.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she chided.  She reached up to ruffle Grantaire's hair playfully, an impressive feat given that she only came up to his chest.  "We wouldn't have missed this for the world, love."

"Yeah, someone's gotta make sure you don't have your ass handed to ya.  It's been - what, five years?  Have you practiced  _at all_?"

"I exercise, if that's what you're implying," Grantaire replied, dodging Bahorel's jab to his midsection.  "I could probably beat you four-zero right now."

"Oho!" Bahorel laughed.  "You think so, eh?"

"We're here to help Grantaire warm up," Musichetta said firmly.  "There'll be enough time for playfighting  _later_."

Musichetta bounded over to the rack of Hanbo staves and picked four, testing their weight and balance before tossing them to the boys.  She strode to the centre of the training mat, the others falling into step behind her in a familiar routine, and began to stretch.  It was easy, Grantaire found, to let his body take over after that.

They ran through a plethora of basic drills for footwork, stability, strength and flexibility with Musichetta leading them, her soft instructions guiding them smoothly through each transition.  It was familiar, soothing, and so easy to get lost in, that Grantaire felt the tension drain from his neck and shoulders with each swing of the staff.  At the end of the final drill, he found himself openly smiling, completely relaxed.

"You kept up, not bad," Musichetta said, pressing a kiss on his cheek fondly.  "How are you feeling, love?"

"Much better, thanks 'Chetta."

Feuilly jabbed him in the shin with the end of his staff and jerked his head toward the doorway.  Musichetta's smile turned teasing when she spotted Enjolras hovering at the top of the stairs.

"I think you have a visitor."  She flapped her hands at Bahorel and Feuilly, herding them out of the room.  They left their staves by the door.  "Good luck today, Grantaire!  We'll be back later!"

"'Chetta, what -"  They disappeared before he could finish his question.  His eyes darted over to Enjolras, who looked just as confused.  "I'm sorry, I have no idea what's gotten into them."

"I didn't know you were friends with Musichetta." Enjolras sai instead, turning to pick up one of the abandoned staves.  His tone was politely detached.

"Uh - yeah.  'Chetta was a couple of years ahead of us - Bahorel, Feuilly and I, that is - when we trained in Sydney."  Grantaire shrugged.  "She taught us most of what we know."

"And you were -  _close_?"

"'Chetta's one of the most amazing women I know," Grantaire said honestly.  He watched as Enjolras picked a staff and walked over to stand opposite him on the mat.  "If Cosette's on the frontline, I'm glad it's with her."

Enjolras glanced at him from the corner of his eye, swinging the staff in his right hand several times for practice.  He shifted his feet for better balance and gestured at Grantaire's own staff.

"I know there's supposed to be an official trial and everything," he said, "but since we're both here, I was hoping -"

"You know what, why the hell not."  Grantaire lifted his staff into position.  "Valjean can't really say no, can he?"

A grin of childish delight stretched across Enjolras' face, quickly settling into an expression of calm as they faced each other.  Grantaire barely registered the first exchange, his body moving of its own accord, but the moment the two staves connected, the impact sent a shock up his arm.  He looked up and found Enjolras staring at him, blue eyes wide in shock.

He bore down with his staff, but neither of them budged from the point of impact.  With a flick of his wrist, he slid out of the hold they were locked in and saw Enjolras match him out of the corner of his eye.  The pauses between their exchanges became less frequent as they picked up the pace, matching each other blow for blow.  Each parry rang in his ears.

Neither of them had managed to score a single point, although they had both managed to work up a sweat, by the time the others arrived.  Valjean looked on impassively, making no move to stop them, but the sallow-faced man beside him, Javert, was less patient.  He strode into the room and stepped between the two of them, halting the match.

"That's enough from both of you!" he snapped.  "Unofficial matches are prohibited!"

"Yeah?" Grantaire said between pants.  His staff was an inch away from Javert's neck.  "I call bullshit."

Javert's nostrils flared as he glared down at Grantaire.  The younger man didn't move, his expression stubborn.  Enjolras looked similarly affronted, although he seemed more frustrated than annoyed.

"There is nothing wrong with sparring in our own time," he said.  "Especially when the room isn't being used."

"They aren't wrong, Javert," Valjean added.  By his side, Cosette looked amused.  "If we don't allow sparring matches outside of official trials, our Rangers will never get their practice."

"Nevertheless, Marshal," Javert replied, grinding his teeth, "the outcome of their match should not impact on the results of the trial."

"Bullshit  _again_!" Grantaire straightened, the knuckles of his hand turning white around the staff.  "The whole point of training and practice is so we can find the partners we can sync with.  How we find them isn't restricted to how  _official_  the circumstances are!"

He brushed past Javert to stand before Enjolras, who regarded him with barely concealed hope, and stretched out his hand.

"I want you."

"What?"  Enjolras' eyes were wide, the word slipping past his lips as a whisper.

" _What_?" Javert echoed, voice rising several octaves in outrage.  Grantaire ignored him.

"You matched me evenly, blow for blow," he said to Enjolras.  He grinned.  "If that's not compatibility, I don't know what is.  I want you to be my co-pilot."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)


	5. Interlude: Anchorage 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before the events of Apollo Retribution.
> 
> Grantaire meets his new pilot, Eponine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anchorage is the prequel/side story to Apollo Retribution, from Grantaire and Eponine becoming co-pilots to him leaving the Shatterdome after her death. I'm posting them as Interludes to Apollo Retribution chapters because it helps to read the events in order as they supplement the main story.

He didn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been cold.  Even within the triple-insulated walls of the Anchorage Shatterdome, the bone-deep chill clung to their bodies like a shroud, settling into gaps between layers of clothing.  It was nothing, however, compared to the winds on the outside.  Shatterdomes, by necessity, were located by the ocean, which meant that each stir of the wind brought with it the icy spray of the ocean as well as the arctic chill and robbed one of breath at its slightest touch.

He missed Sydney.  The city’s weather went through more fluctuations in a week than Anchorage did in a year, but its winters were mild.  And it never snowed.  The Sydney Shatterdome offered a beautiful view of the Harbour on one side, the city centre on another, and caught the best of the sun’s warmth in the middle of the day.  He had trained at the Academy with the other Rangers, preparing for duty and learning discipline in order to find another Drift-compatible Ranger to pilot a Jaeger.  Bahorel and Feuilly had found each other during that very first trial and had been whisked away to begin testing.

"You’re going to miss trials if you stay out here for much longer."  There was a light tap against the side of his head.  "If you don’t freeze to death first."

"Leave me here to die," Grantaire replied with a lopsided grin.  He took the proffered cup and wrapped both hands around it, savouring the rich scent of dark coffee and the heat bleeding through his gloves.  "Thanks."

Combeferre smiled.  He lifted a gloved hand and gently dusted the white, powdery snow from the fur-lined hood of Grantaire’s jacket.

"You’re awfully melodramatic today, Grantaire.  Are you nervous?"

"Would you be, if it’s your fourth time?"

"Mm…perhaps not.  But…"  His fingers trailed down to brush the shell of Grantaire’s ear.  "You haven’t exactly been trying to find a partner, have you?"

"I wouldn’t have to," Grantaire mumbled, “if you’d agreed."

"Grantaire, we’ve been over this."

"I know."  Grantaire’s expression grew sullen.  He shied away from Combeferre’s touch and turned away.  "I don’t want to force you to do something you’re not comfortable with."

 Combeferre let his hand drop to Grantaire’s elbow and gave a soft tug until he had turned back around.  He ran the same hand up Grantaire’s arm until it rested on the back of his neck, his thumb stroking along his jawline.

"R…"

Grantaire leaned into his touch with a sad smile and shook his head.  His cheeks and nose were dusted pink with the cold and he allowed Combeferre to pull him forward, tucking his head under Combeferre’s chin.  His breath left in wisps of steam, vanishing into the frigid air.

  
  


-

  
  


The candidates were assembled in a line at the edge of the sparring mat when they arrived at the Kwoon Combat Room.  Grantaire had dressed down to his training gear, standard issue black tank and grey sweats, and settled on the mat to begin warm up stretches.  Combeferre headed straight for one of the concrete arches that served as a spectator area, as it opened to an open corridor.  He caught Grantaire’s eye as he crossed the room, and caught the slight tug at the corner of his lips when their eyes met.

Grantaire sank into a half-lotus position and closed his eyes, falling into the familiar pattern of meditative breathing, and the room around him fell away.  He’d always imagined Drifting to be akin to floating in a space of total nothingness, to be melded in mind and soul so completely with another person that they would both eventually lose their sense of self.  His memories, his secrets, his  _thoughts_ would no longer be his own.

He took one last, shuddering breath, and rose to his feet.

It was almost like a dance, now, wielding the wooden staff against the opponents they had put before him.  They were unfailingly predictable in their movements - upswing, downward slash,  _thrust_  - almost unwilling to stray from textbook attack formations and he parried each attack with ease and little effort.  He could feel the impact of each blow as it connected to his staff, jarring and unsettling his grip and stance.

The next swing came too wide, baring his opponent’s side.  Grantaire struck, felling him in one stroke.

"Four-zero."

The smattering of applause from the spectators was interspersed with hushed muttering and furtive glances in his direction.  When he stepped off the mat, Combeferre was waiting for him, a frown knitting his brows together.

"Grantaire…"

"I’m trying."  He tugged on Combeferre’s sleeve.  "I promise I am."

He felt the weight of Combeferre’s hand as it came to rest on the back of his neck and ducked his head into the touch.

"It’s not a fight, Grantaire, but a dialogue," Combeferre murmured in his ear.  "Don’t just speak -  _listen_."

His lips brushed gently over Grantaire’s jawline, just below his ear, and whispered a final  _good luck_.  Grantaire nodded.  He released his grip on Combeferre’s jacket, absently smoothing out the creases he had made, and turned to face the last candidate.

It was a girl who looked to be about his age, with dark hair falling in waves down to her waist, secured by a hair tie.  She was half turned away from him, chatting to a younger girl at her side, a bright smile on her lips.  Her eyes, when he eventually caught them, were dark and playful.

"Eponine," the child said, swinging their joined hands, “it’s your turn!"

"Yeah - wanna watch me kick butt, Cosette?"

Cosette’s enthusiastic response was met with a wicked grin.  Eponine patted her head, ruffled her neatly braided hair, and stepped onto the mat.  Behind her, Cosette was lead to a safer distance by Valjean.

"You think you can win?" Grantaire asked her, sinking into a half-crouch, his staff steady in his hand.  "No one’s ever beaten me before."

"Good for you," Eponine replied as she gave her own staff an experimental twirl between her hands.  "I’ve never lost either - what’s your point?"

Grantaire laughed.

"I  _like_  you."

"Enough to be my co-pilot?" she asked with a raised brow.  He shrugged.

"I dunno…you’d have to convince me," he said.  "Besides, I thought this whole exercise was to find  _me_ a co-pilot."

“ _My_  co-pilot,  _your_  co-pilot, same difference."  She planted her feet and raised her staff.  "You’re not that special."

"Touché."

She struck first, lunging straight for his eyes.  He barely flinched as he acknowledged the point and followed it up with a quick thrust to the blind spot on her left.  The quick sidestep she made threw off her balance for a split second, which was all he needed to get the upper hand. He had her flat on her back in the blink of an eye, the head of his staff lying across her neck.

"One-all," she said calmly.  The expression in her dark eyes was thoughtful.  "You’re not half bad."

She slipped out from under the line of his staff, using her own as leverage to get back on her feet.  The next bout was longer and they traded blows almost casually, their strikes and parries meeting with rhythmic coordination, and he felt every impact reverberate through his arms.  For every point he gained, she took another.

His next swing was too wide and she was on him in a second, sweeping at the opening at his side.  He went down, tucking himself into a roll, ready to spring to his feet again but when he straightened, he came face to face with the end of her staff.  She grinned.

"Four-three."

For a breathless moment, he stared at her.  Then he threw back in head and laughed.

"I yield!"  He took the offered hand and she hauled him to his feet.  "You’re good."

"I’m amazing," she corrected, wrapping an arm around his waist.  "So - co-pilots?"

"If you think I’m going to let you go after this, you’re sadly mistaken," he said very seriously.  "We’re gonna rock as co-pilots."

They accepted congratulations from the rest of the onlookers, still wrapped around each other.  Cosette approached Grantaire shyly, but she lost her hesitancy when Eponine folded her into a group hug with him.  Grantaire searched the room over the top of the girls’ heads.  His smile fell away.

Combeferre was nowhere in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and discussions on the fic, Les Mis and Pacific Rim or anything else is most welcome!


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire prepare for their first Test Drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! I got stuck trying to work out what to write after the first scene, but after that was done, the rest of it came naturally. I think. Enjoy!

Enjolras stared at Grantaire as if he could scarcely believe what he had just said.  Grantaire found that the expression made him look so much younger than his twenty years and that thought triggered and unsettled churning in the pit of his stomach.  He stamped it out as quickly as it had manifested.  Instead, he clapped Enjolras on the shoulder.

"It's not a joke, in case you were wondering," he assured him.  "This is going to work."

He ignored the persistent nagging at the back of his mind, whispered reminders of a time when those words had not been followed through.  He forced himself to smile at Enjolras, trying not to focus on the warmth of Enjolras' hand as it came up to rest on his.

" _Thank you_ ," Enjolras whispered.  "You won't be sorry, I promise."

Grantaire nodded mutely, not trusting his voice to remain steady.

 

 

_"We're gonna rock as co-pilots."_

_The dark-haired girl at his side laughed and squeezed his waist._

_"It's going to be awesome," she agreed._

"Grantaire?"

There was a hand on his cheek, fingers tracing his jaw, and Enjolras' concerned face swam into his line of sight.  Grantaire shivered.

"Grantaire," Enjolras repeated softly, "it's okay.  Do you want to leave?"

Grantaire nodded again and the hand on his cheek drifted down to support him under his elbow.  He followed Enjolras quietly to the door, barely registering the curious watchfulness of the crowd and the frowns on his friends' faces, focused on keeping up with Enjolras' steady progression out of the room.

"We're going back to your room, okay?"  Enjolras' voice was low and soothing in his ear.  "You're fine.  We're not far."

He kept up a steady stream of murmured encouragements as they moved, most of which Grantaire did not register.  It was as if a dense haze had settled over his mind, clouding his senses and dancing faint shadows across his vision.  He trembled and felt Enjolras clutch him tighter, pulling him close with an arm around his waist.

When they reached his room, it took Enjolras a moment to fumble with the pocket of Grantaire's trousers to find his access key and then they were stumbling into his sparsely furnished room.  Enjolras lowered him into a sitting position on the bed.

"Sorry," Grantaire mumbled.  "I ruined it for you, didn't I?"

"Ruined what?" Enjolras handed him a glass of water he accepted gratefully.  "Don't be ridiculous."

He pulled out one of the chairs and seated himself facing Grantaire, their knees barely brushing.  His blonde hair curled around the back of his neck and down one shoulder, still damp from the sweat of their earlier exertion, loose bangs falling into his eyes.  He regarded Grantaire with a thoughtful expression.

"Are you alright?"

Grantaire took a long sip from his glass and avoided Enjolras' gaze.  The tremors in his body had all but stopped, only the slightest quiver remained in his hands.  He clutched the glass tighter.

"I'm fine."  He managed a weak, unconvincing smile.  "Seriously."

"Fine.  But don't think I won't know if something really is wrong," Enjolras warned him.  He shook his head, chuckling softly, and Grantaire found himself unable to suppress his own.  "I wanted to ask...was it - how was...what did that  _feel like_ to you?  Just then?"

"The sparring?"  Enjolras nodded, a feverish glint in his dark eyes.  Grantaire looked down at his glass with a frown.  "I honestly don't know how to describe it.  I've never connected that quickly before -"

"Not even with - sorry," Enjolras apologised, catching himself before he finished the sentence.  "You don't have to answer that."

"No, it's fine," Grantaire assured him.  He handed the glass to Enjolras, who set it on the table behind him.  "To answer your question: no."

There was a twitch tugging at the corners of Enjolras' lips they both ignored, Enjolras in favour of knocking their knees together lightly.  He fidgeted with his hands and twice looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it, instead leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.

"What was it like for you, before?" he asked.

"You'll see it all soon," Grantaire said.  He sounded less than thrilled.  "Our first test drift is in three hours."

"Grantaire..." Enjolras' hands came to rest on Grantaire's knees to still their twitching.  "I would like to hear it from you."

"You're not trespassing on anything if I'm letting you into my mind," Grantaire reminded him.  "Consensual mind melding and everything."

Enjolras pursed his lips and shook his head.

"It's not the same.  I don't want to be in the Drift and have us come across something you wanted to keep secret, or wanted some control over who found out.  There are things that are too personal, or might trigger some form of trauma -"

"You want me to tell you about Eponine."

Enjolras barely flinched at the accusatory note in Grantaire's voice, although the soft flush was visible as he lifted his chin.  Grantaire sighed.

"There's really nothing to say that you won't find out once we're in the Drift," he said.  "And you said you read my file - what more is there to know?"

"I had a friend," Enjolras began, licking his lips uncertainly, "as a child, who worked at Anchorage.  He said he knew you - both of you - before you starting piloting together, and then after, when she..."

"When she died," Grantaire finished for him.  Enjolras nodded.  "Look, Enjolras.  They've told you what Drifting is and they try - they  _try_ , but there are no words to truly describe what it's like to be in someone else's head.  It's not like having an extra person speaking into your mind.  You  _become_ that person - their memories, their thoughts, their feelings - and _they_ become _you_.  It's the most exhilarating feeling in the world."

"And also the most terrifying," Enjolras voice whispered.  He leaned in, eyes gleaming with a terrible brilliance, so that his face was a breath away from Grantaire's.  "I think I can understand."

Grantaire found himself transfixed by those eyes.  He could feel Enjolras' breath ghosting over his lips and the way the hands on his knees trembled.  His own hands, which had been gripping the bedsheets, reached up to rest on the soft skin where Enjolras' shoulder met his neck.  The muscles tensed briefly under his touch, and then relaxed.

"There are some things better left unsaid," he murmured.  One of the hands at his knee came up to rest on top of his, still cradling the back of Enjolras' head.  "You'll know it all firsthand before the day is out."

"Would you trust me?"

"I believe I already do."

He felt the smile spread across Enjolras' lips.

 

 

-

 

 

Cosette met him on the way to the Drivesuit Room, worrying at her nails.  She was accompanied by a tall young man with messy brown hair dressed in a technician’s grey and they were conversing in hushed voices as he approached.  Cosette was the first to see him.

“There you are!” she exclaimed.  “I almost thought you weren’t going to show.”

He swept her into a hug and she clung to his shoulders, trembling despite her efforts to appear calm.  He murmured an apology into the crown of her hair, to which she replied with a tiny nod and held him tighter.  Over the top of her head, Grantaire saw the young man had looked away to give them some semblance of privacy.

“Who’s this, Cosette?” he asked, releasing her.  She brushed away the beginnings of tears discreetly and turned to her companion.

“Oh, Grantaire, this is Marius Pontmercy.”  The young man nodded in greeting.  “He’s training to become a Ranger.  Marius, this is Grantaire.”

Grantaire offered his hand and Marius shook it, his grip firm.  There was an air of uncertainty about him, as if he was not quite comfortable in his own skin, and he glanced continuously over at Cosette, almost for reassurance.  She returned each look with a steady smile.

“Marius was one of the candidates I had picked out for your trial this morning,” Cosette said with a pointed look at Grantaire.  He grimaced.  “He was quite disappointed not to have participated.”

“Sorry.”  Marius shook his head.

“Oh no, don’t be!” he said earnestly.  “I saw your duel with Enjolras – I don’t think anyone could have bested that.  Besides, I still get to be your Drivesuit technician.”

He made a general sweeping motion over his outfit.  Grantaire looked down at his own sweatpants and grey shirt, reminding himself to do a laundry run after the test.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cosette glance at her wristwatch and cluck her tongue.

“The test’s starting in fifteen minutes,” she said.  She pointed at Grantaire.  “ _You_ have to change.  Your suit’s ready for you – I had it made from the measurements of your old one, so it might not fit.  Let Marius know, if it doesn’t, and we’ll try and get another one made before next time.”

“I don’t think my body’s changed _that_ much,” Grantaire muttered.

“I don’t know.”  Cosette gave his stomach a pointed look.  “You’ve gotten bigger round the middle.”

“Lies,” he replied, scandalised.  “Slander!”

She grinned and kissed him lightly on the cheek, patting Marius on the arm as she headed off towards the Control Room.  Grantaire noticed Marius’ eyes follow her progress down the hall and shook his head.

“I don’t know about you, Marius, but I don’t wanna be late,” he said.  Marius blinked in surprise.  “Yeah, uh – Enjolras doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate tardiness.”

The look of apprehension on Marius’ face bordered on fear at the mention of Enjolras.  He grabbed Grantaire’s elbow and started dragging him towards the changing rooms with another mumbled apology, flushed red to the roots of his hair.  Grantaire chuckled.

In the Drivesuit Room, Grantaire was handed a familiar black, skin tight suit threaded with what seemed to be electrical circuits.  He shucked off his own clothes quickly as Marius unzipped the suit carefully, mindful of its delicate nature, and together they managed to help Grantaire pull it on without too much fuss.  Grantaire flexed his arm, feeling the stretch of the fabric as he moved.

 

 

 _“Oh my god, can they_ make _these suits any tighter?”_

_He glanced back to see Eponine twisting around in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her behind and laughed when she let out a frustrated huff._

_“Looking good,” he called over his shoulder.  He didn’t have to turn around to know she was flipping him off.  “Really brings out your eyes.”_

_“It’d better be my eyes,” she called back.  “If I catch you checking out my ass, I_ will _make your life a living hell.”_

 

 

He was startled out of his reverie when the door to the chamber opened and Enjolras walked in, already changed.  His blonde hair seemed paler, stark in comparison to the dark suit, and it had been pulled back into a tight braid away from his face.  He was deep in conversation with two other men, who were wearing matching green shirts and jeans and gesturing animatedly as they spoke.  Enjolras noticed him watching first and broke in mid sentence to greet him.

“Grantaire!”  He stopped just short of where Grantaire was standing and cast an admiring look over him from head to toe.  “You look good.”

“Thanks, so do you.”  One of Enjolras’ companions, the taller one with a messy mop of curls, coughed into his fist and choked when his friend elbowed him sharply.  “Uh – who’re your friends?”

“Oh, of course.”  Enjolras turned back to his friends and waved for them to approach.  “This is Courfeyrac, and Jean Prouvaire – they pilot Rhea Strife.”

The taller one, Courfeyrac, shook his hand energetically.

“We’ve heard all about you from Enjolras,” he said.  Grantaire raised his eyebrows in surprise and Enjolras’ looked away.  “We’ve just come down from Tokyo, actually.”

“You were the ones who took down that Jaeger three days ago?”

“Bladehead,” Jean supplied with a dreamy smile.  “He was rather ferocious, wasn’t he?”

Jean Prouvaire stood a little taller than Grantaire himself and reached Courfeyrac’s ear, his long auburn hair falling in an intricate braid down his back.  He was lean and wiry, every part of his body taut muscle that belied his rather feminine face.  He turned his soft smile to Grantaire.

“Your reputation precedes you, Grantaire,” he said.  “We came to wish you luck in the trial.”

“Thank you…?” Grantaire replied uncertainly.  He looked to Enjolras and his co-pilot cleared his throat.

“Guys, it’s about to start soon,” he said.  “We still have to finish changing.”

He ushered them back to the door, rolling his eyes as Courfeyrac waved at Grantaire over his shoulder.  He closed the door firmly behind them and returned, red-faced.  Marius, who had been silent during the whole exchange, led them over to the suiting area.  The team of technicians standing by brought over the hard outer layer of the Drivesuits, snapping them into place with practised efficiency.  They continued to dress without speaking, though Enjolras kept shooting furtive looks in Grantaire’s direction.

As Marius snapped the spinal clamp onto their suits, he turned to Grantaire.

“You ready?”

Grantaire gave him a weak grin.

“Now or never.”

He closed his eyes as the helmet was lowered over his head, only opening them again as he heard it click into place.  He chanced a look over at Enjolras as the Relay Gel drained away and found him looking back.  Their eyes met and Enjolras managed a small smile.  Grantaire could see the tremble at the corner of his lips.

“Hey, Enjolras,” he said softly.  His voice was soft over the headset.  “It’s okay, just relax.  First Drifts are hard, especially with someone you’re not familiar with.  You just have to relax – let the memories pass you by, don’t ever cling onto one.”

He stretched out a hand.  Enjolras took it in his and squeezed once, hard, before letting it drop.  They took a deep breath in unison and moved towards the Conn-Pod.

“You don’t mind if I take the right, do you?” Grantaire asked as they stepped through the hatchet.  “My left arm isn’t what it used to be.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras told him.  He eyed the Motion Rigs.  “I think I’d prefer it anyway.”

They stepped into the Motion Rigs, the heavy metal clamps fastening onto their boots, securing them in place.  They slipped their hands into the suit gauntlets as the tech crew fastened the feedback cradle to the spinal clamp.  The final checks done, Marius and the others withdrew, leaving the two of them suspended in the Rig, arms and legs spread, locked into the Conn-Pod.

“Good morning, boys,” Valjean’s voice said over the intercom.  “How are your stats?”

“All good, sir,” Grantaire replied.  Enjolras echoed his response.  “Ready to drop.”

“Alright.”  There was a pause and muffled murmurs from Valjean’s end.  “Okay boys, I’d like to introduce you to the person in charge of your test today.”

“Sir?”  Enjolras’ eyes widened, mouth opened to protest.  Grantaire shook his head at him.  “Who is it?”

Another pause and a crackle of static later, a familiar, deep voice sounded over the comm.

“Good morning, Grantaire, Enjolras.”

Grantaire’s breath hitched as Enjolras’ face lit up in recognition.

“ _Combeferre_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/) I also post snippets as I write, and some commentary, so if you ever want to discuss this fic (or Pacific Rim in general), definitely stop by!


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Test Drift goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the reviews and messages and kudos! They really helped me through this difficult chapter (it was so hard to write for some strange reason).

_Warm fingers brushed against his cheeks, tracing down towards his jaw line in a tender caress.  He turned towards the touch and his lips grazed over the palm._

_“R…”_

_He smiled at the hitch in his breath and nuzzled deeper into the hand.  The look he directed at him was heavy-lidded and inviting._

_“Combeferre.”_

 

 

Grantaire forced himself to take several deep, shuddering breaths, dimly aware that Enjolras was now exchanging pleasantries with the man on the other side of the intercom.  He had to focus, but it was stifling in the helmet, too tight in the suit.  He gasped.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras said, turning his upper body to face him.  The tinted glass obscured the concerned expression on his face.  "Grantaire, what’s the matter?"

Grantaire lifted his left hand in a vague flapping motion, as if to dismiss his concern, but he could not speak.  He could feel Enjolras becoming anxious, opening his mouth to speak - to cancel the drop - and he had to stop him, he had to -

"Grantaire."  At the sound of Combeferre’s voice, soft and warm in his ear, Grantaire stilled.  "Grantaire, can you hear me?"

His throat felt raw, as if he had swallowed nails, but he managed a raspy affirmative.  Combeferre hummed gently in response, so as to not startle him.

"Do you want to postpone the drop, Grantaire?" he asked.

"No."  Grantaire shook his head firmly and clenched his fists.  "No, don’t cancel it.  I’m okay."

"Your vitals are off, Grantaire," Enjolras interjected.  He sounded uncertain - and a little reluctant.  "Maybe it’s better if we -"

"No," Grantaire repeated.  "Just - give me a moment."

He forced himself to relax, closing his eyes and breathing, drawing in on the meditative state he had been in just this morning.  Fingers curled around his, resting on the control dock, and he opened his eyes to see Enjolras giving him a small, reassuring smile.  Calmness bled through the brief contact to fill him.

"Vitals are stable," Combeferre reported.  Grantaire returned Enjolras’ smile.

"Right then. Engage the drop."

Combeferre hesitated, but when Valjean’s voice repeated the order he relented.

"Engaging drop."

The entire Conn-Pod jerked and shook as the machinery roared to life.  Enjolras’ hand, curled gently around his, tightened into a grasp as the Pod thundered down the shaft, rattling against the steel rails, all the way down to its position at Apollo’s neck.  It was only when the last resounding boom sounded and the last lock clamped the Pod into place, did he release his grip.

"Nothing like the simulations," Grantaire said jokingly.  Enjolras glared at him.

"Lining up well, Apollo," Combeferre said.  "Three minutes to neural bridge calibration.  Get ready."

Enjolras was nervous - Grantaire did not need the link to see the way his grip flexed on the control arm, or how his gaze kept darting between the control pad and Grantaire.  Now that Grantaire himself had calmed down, the emotional detachment of the Drift settled in quickly, a familiar routine.

“Neural bridge initialising.”

“Enjolras,” he murmured.  Beside him, Enjolras stirred.  “Try and relax.  Remember what I said about the Drift?  Let it wash over you and _don’t hold onto anything_.”

Enjolras nodded, his expression tight.  Over the speakers, Combeferre cleared his throat.

"Initiating neural handshake in ten seconds."

"Just… _feel_ , okay?  You’ll be fine.”  Grantaire gave Enjolras one last grin.  ”See you in the Drift.”

"…eight…seven…six…"

Allowing the Rig to carry his weight, Grantaire leaned back and closed his eyes.  To his left, the nervous shifting had ceased.  A soft background voice on the intercom reported stable vitals.

"…five…four….three…"

He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"…two…o _ne_.”

 

  
  


_\- Mum! Mum! Look what I drew!_

_…a labrador pup bounded over to his feet, its tongue drawing long, sloppy streaks along his arm as he giggled -_

_\- flowers strewn over the plain headstone, the last remnants of the parents who had never understood him…_

_…the gentle, encouraging smile as he solved the next problem on his homework, warm brown eyes hidden behind glasses -_

_\- shaking apart, crying, strong arms holding him together…_

_…screams, fire, smoke in his eyes, footsteps thundering around him as people fought each other to get to the evacuation areas outside the city centre –_

_-dark eyes, and a wicked smile, hidden underneath a curtain of long, dark hair, a solid presence in his mind…_

_…looming in the distance, the hulking figure of the monster dragging itself onto shore, each footfall shattering his very bones –_

_-water surged and pounded against their legs as they waded waist-deep in the ocean, just outside the ten mile line, the churning waves obscuring their vision more than a metre ahead…_

_…running, running – fear – helplessness – tearing around the corner, bodies crushed under debris – his parents were one of them, one of those bodies lying there, he needed to get out –_

  
  


Thrown back into consciousness, they blinked and slowly shook their head.  They lifted their hands and turned them – palm up, palm down.  Clench – release.

“Neural handshake one hundred percent and holding,” Combeferre reported softly, distantly, in their ears.  “Strong and steady.  How are you guys?”

“Good – great,” Grantaire replied.  “It feels –”

“- different,” Enjolras said, “but good.”

“Excellent.”  Combeferre sounded relieved.  “Let’s try basics – small steps, arm flexes.  You know the drill.”

They brought their right foot back slowly, the restraint of the clamps weighing them down – and Apollo shifted backward.  The Conn-Pod surged with the movement.  They grinned and shifted back again.

“Doing well, Apollo.”

Courfeyrac and Bahorel were in the Control Room, their voices audible in the background over the intercom.  They whooped and applauded as Apollo moved fluidly through each exercise – raising his arms, clenching his fists and bringing them back down into a defensive stance.  Each new movement became easier, lighter, faster, movements synchronised down to the last millisecond.  Exhilaration coursed through their veins and they turned towards each other with matching grins –

 

\- Enjolras, bloodied and bruised, stood staring back at them.  He was surrounded by wreckage, the destruction of an entire city.  By his side lay the severed head of the monster of his memories, splattering the streets with Kaiju Blue.  His expression was glazed over, blank and unseeing – lost in his -

 

“Enjolras, stay in the Drift,” Grantaire said urgently.  “Let the memory go.  We’ll lose the bridge if you don’t –”

 

A deafening roar resounded in their mind and they ducked instinctively as a splintering crash followed.  There was a blast of frigid seawater from the gaping hole in the Conn-Pod, through which they could see the eerie blue glowing beneath thick, leathery skin and inside the great, yawning mouth of the monster they were facing.  Grantaire shouted, but his words were lost beneath the howling wind and the water rushing by –

 

“Both pilots are out of alignment!” Combeferre said.  He raised his voice over the intercom.  “Grantaire, Enjolras, can you hear me?”

 

\- he was flying, torn away from the fastenings by his arm and flung high into the air.  His whole body was buffeted by the force of the throw, turning his line of vision on its head.  He caught sight of a gaping void, tinged with a luminescent blue, and his mouth opened in a silent scream -

 

“Grantaire!”

At Enjolras’ shout, the vision shattered.  Grantaire stood, frozen, staring unseeingly at where Knifehead and been only moments before.  The ache in his left arm had returned with a vengeance.  Enjolras repeated his name – his voice so soft it barely brushed the edges of his conscious mind – and his body turned.

Enjolras was crying.

“Stop the test,” Grantaire said finally, his voice coming out as a hoarse croak.  His gaze was fixed on Enjolras.  “I – we can’t – not right now.”

Combeferre acquiesced after a very pregnant pause.  As soon as the restraints had released, Enjolras lurched out of his Motion Rig, pulling off his helmet and letting it clatter onto the floor of the Pod.  They stumbled into each other’s arms, subconsciously seeking contact in the absence of the link, bodies pressed together.  Grantaire, acutely aware of the tears that were now flowing down both their faces, held Enjolras closer and buried his face in his hair.

“Uh – guys, do you need us to send down a med team?”  Courfeyrac asked over the intercom.

Enjolras’ hands came up to clutch at Grantaire, who pulled back only far enough to see him shake his head.

“No,” Grantaire told Courfeyrac.  “We don’t need a med team.”

He wiped the tear tracks from Enjolras’ cheek with his thumb; his other hand cupped the back of his neck.  He allowed Enjolras to return the favour, but his hands trembled against his skin and his fingertips danced almost skittishly along his jawline.

“Can you stand?”

When Enjolras nodded, they struggled to their feet, neither of them willing to let the other go.  Their eyes remained fixed on each other, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras mumbled.  His hand was resting on the back of Grantaire’s neck.  “I’m sorry, it was my fault.”

“No – Enjolras  _no_.”  Grantaire grasped the hand in his firmly, pressing the knuckles to his lips for a short, fierce moment.  “Listen.  This was a two-way thing, okay? First Drifts are hard, even for someone with your simulator scores.”

The look Enjolras fixed him with was knowing and bitter.

“You mean someone with my history,” he corrected.  “I let the trauma of my past get in the way.  I almost put everyone in danger.”

“But you didn’t,” Grantaire said.  His other hand cupped the side of Enjolras’ face gently.  “These things  _happen_.  Believe me, I’ve seen it get much, much worse – and for people with much healthier pasts than us.  We got out without hurting anyone else, didn’t we?”

He held firm until Enjolras nodded and surged forward into his arms, arms wrapped tightly around his torso.  He returned the embrace with equal fervour and held on as the sound of the emergency hatch opening pierced through the silence of the dark Pod.

“Grantaire! Are you alright –”

Combeferre trailed off, frozen in the hatch doorway with an unfathomable expression on his face.  Grantaire met his eyes over the top of Enjolras’ head, a familiar ache stirring in the pit of his stomach.  In his arms, the tremors that had wracked Enjolras’ body had faded, but he continued to hold on, his face buried in the crook of Grantaire’s neck.  Combeferre’s lips thinned into a semblance of a smile.

He turned around and left.

 

 

-

 

 

Despite insisting that they did not need medical attention, Javert refused to let them return to their rooms without first being fussed over by the medics.  By the time they had been poked, prodded and questioned to Javert’s satisfaction, Enjolras’ shaky demeanour had been replaced by his usual composure, marred only by the irritated twitch in his jaw.  Grantaire bore it all with a bone-deep weariness.

“Alright, you’ve been given the all-clear to go,” Javert said curtly.  He pointed at the door.  “You may return to your rooms.”

Enjolras stood and pulled his shirt back on, but Grantaire remained where he was seated on the examination table, glaring at Javert.  The older man looked up from examining their charts when he noticed neither of them had moved to leave.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“Where was the Marshal?” Grantaire asked, his voice level.  Enjolras reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder with a worried frown.  “Where was he, just then, during the test?”

“He had other matters to attend to.”  The dismissive tone bordered on anger.  “He does not have the luxury of babysitting upstarts and has-beens when there is a war at hand.”

Grantaire stiffened, bristling, but Enjolras’ firm grip on his shoulder kept him seated.  He opened his mouth, an angry retort on his lips, but before he could speak, the door to the infirmary opened and two men half-stumbled inside, carrying a third man between them.  Grantaire jumped off the table to make room for them.  They manoeuvred the man, barely conscious and sporting a heavy nosebleed, onto the examination table before Grantaire realised who they were.

“Bossuet!” he exclaimed.  Enjolras looked at his companions.

“What happened?”

Joly, rushing around gathering supplies, did not hear his question.  Bossuet moaned, tossing his head weakly, smearing blood over the paper lining.  Enjolras directed his question to Combeferre, who had found a cold pack in the fridge and was carefully slotting it under Bossuet’s neck.

“He created a Pons out of scraps of metal,” Combeferre said grimly.  He was now trying to stem the blood flow while Grantaire gaped at him.

“He  _didn’t_.”

Joly shouldered him out of the way to examine Bossuet’s eyes.  The left eye was red-rimmed, bloodshot.

“Neural overload,” Joly muttered, half to himself.  “You  _idiot_.  I  _told_  you not to do it – it’s not  _safe_!  Even Rangers have to have another pilot to share the load and you –!”

His voice trailed off with a strangled cry, working with renewed vigour.  Combeferre disposed of the paper towels he had been using to clean the blood from Bossuet’s face and neck and approached Javert.

“The Marshal left instructions to inform him as soon as Doctor Lesgle is fully conscious and able to report,” Combeferre told him.  Javert nodded, brows knitted together in a frown.  “Dr Joly will be staying here until he recovers.”

“Very well.”  Javert glanced back over at Enjolras and Grantaire, who were still standing by the examination table and glared.  “I thought the two of you were leaving.”

Enjolras started tugging Grantaire towards the door, cutting off whatever scathing comment he was about to deliver.  His mouth was set in a firm line, which softened only slightly as Combeferre took his leave of Javert and joined them outside.  He shut the door behind them with a heavy  _thud_  and sighed.

“You two are better off not getting on Javert’s bad side,” he said.  “You may not like it, but he’s still second in command here and he doesn’t take kindly to people who slight him.”

“I think it was deserved,” Grantaire replied.  “He was being a dickhead.”

“He was doing his  _job_.”  Combeferre fixed him with a stern look over the rim of his glasses.  “Please, R, after what happened this morning –”

“No, Combeferre, I don’t want to talk about it.”  Grantaire’s voice was heavy and tired.  He barely registered Enjolras’ hand coming to rest on his lower back, instead pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off an oncoming headache.  “Not right now.”

Combeferre did not reply, but his gaze remained steadily trained on Grantaire, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.  After a long, tense moment, he turned to Enjolras.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Enjolras,” he said, “I would like a word with Grantaire in private.”

Enjolras looked reluctant to leave Grantaire’s side, casting worried glances between them.  Grantaire gave an almost imperceptible nod, after which he took Grantaire’s offered hand and gave it a squeeze before letting it drop.  He nodded to Combeferre and started down the hallway.  Combeferre watched him go with the same unreadable expression he had in the Conn-Pod.  It caused an unpleasant swooping sensation in Grantaire’s chest when that gaze turned back to him.

“You came back,” Combeferre said softly.  Grantaire nodded.  “What changed your mind?”

“I…Valjean needed me,” he said.  The words sounded weak to his own ears and he hated the way Combeferre’s face fell as they left his lips.  “There are no Mark III pilots left…”

“Grantaire,  _please_.”  The soft plea silenced Grantaire immediately.  Combeferre’s hand was paused, hovering just below Grantaire’s jaw, his eyes wide.  “May I –?”

Grantaire closed his eyes and nodded once more.  He felt the cautious, gentle brush of fingertips against his jawline and heard the hitch in Combeferre’s breath to match his own.  The touch grew firmer when Grantaire did not pull away, making his way behind his ear and around to the nape of his neck, where it settled, the pressure achingly familiar.  He felt Combeferre’s next words breathed into the space between them, barely an inch away.

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/) I post snippets of this fic while I'm writing, and some headcanons, and sometimes I liveblog my feelings. Especially for Combeferre. Because it's a Combeferre party on my blog. Come visit!


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Test Drift and a meeting with Valjean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys. The past few weeks have not been...well, great, to be honest and I haven't had the time or inspiration to write. In any case, I managed to get a chapter out - it's a bit shorter than the others, but I promise the next one will get back on track!
> 
> Also, during this time period, the amazing [princessofinsomnia](http://princessofinsomnia.tumblr.com) drew a brilliant and gorgeous art of Enjolras and Grantaire as Apollo's co-pilots [here](http://princessofinsomnia.tumblr.com/post/59079053573/enjolras-and-grantaire-in-a-jaeeeeger-p-much) so please check it out!

Enjolras was waiting for him when he returned, seated on the steps outside his room with his elbows braced on his knees.  He looked up as Grantaire approached, his expression brightening, although the faintest hint of a frown remained in the crease of his brow.  He glanced over Grantaire’s shoulder briefly as the other man moved to open his door.

"Is Combeferre not with you?" he asked with forced casualness.

"He has a meeting with Valjean," Grantaire replied.  He held open the door for Enjolras to enter.  "We do too, by the way."

"I can imagine."  Enjolras seated himself on one of the chairs and watched as Grantaire shucked off his jacket, throwing it casually onto the bed.  "He can’t be pleased."

"No, he’s not," Grantaire agreed.  He turned on the sink faucet.  "But that’s nothing compared to Javert’s hissy fit, to be honest."

He ducked, letting the cold water run over the back of head and trickle down onto his face, acutely aware of the sound of Enjolras’ chair scraping against the floor as he stood.  Breathing was becoming steadily more difficult the longer he kept his head underwater, but he relished the burn in his lungs and throat as he persisted.  He could vaguely determine the outline of Enjolras’ boots coming to a stop beside the sink through the curtain of water.

"Are you trying to drown yourself?" Enjolras asked, exasperation creeping into his voice.  The boots tapped on the floor, twice.  "We need to talk."

His words were garbled, distorted by the flowing water, and Grantaire did not reply.  There was a sigh and a brief warmth pressed against his hip before the tap was turned off.  A towel was draped over his bowed head.

"What do you want me to say?"

He straightened, one end of the towel falling to his shoulder while the other remained stubbornly stuck to his hair, but didn’t turn around.  Rivulets of water ran down his face and neck to seep under the collar of his shirt.  He tugged on the towel until it was settled around the back of his neck, giving his jaw and neck a cursory pat.  Enjolras crossed his arms over his chest where he stood by the sink and his gaze was carefully trained on the side of Grantaire’s face, hidden underneath the dark curls.

"You told me not to blame myself," he said.  "And yet here you are, blaming yourself for what happened."

"I’m not blaming myself," Grantaire replied.  He gave a sharp tug on the ends of the towel as the muscles in his jaw tightened.  "You should know."

"Yes, I should."  Enjolras reached out to grasp his elbow, forcing him to turn back around.  "I  _do_  know.  Please look at me?”

There was a haunted look to the shadows under Grantaire’s eyes, the hunch of his shoulders and the twist of his lips.  In his mind, the remnants of the fading Bridge tugged at the distance between them, reaching across the gap where his mind ended and Enjolras’ began.  His hand twitched, already halfway lifted towards Enjolras before he could stop himself.

Snatches of memories darted along the edges of his consciousness, Enjolras’ intermingled with his own, until he could not clearly ascertain which were his.  His clutch on the ends of the towel tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"I saw…everything," he said.  "And so did you."

Enjolras’ features softened, along with the hand on Grantaire’s elbow.  The firm grip turned into a brief caress, his fingers barely brushing the skin.

"I did," he agreed.  "I never imagined it to be like that."

"Like what?" Grantaire’s voice was wavering, but he ploughed on.  "So exposed, so naked and vulnerable?”

"So  _complete_ ,” Enjolras said.  A smile touched the lines of his mouth.  ”I was scared, when the handshake initiated.  I felt like I was -“

”- drowning,” Grantaire said softly.  ”Like you were being melted down and poured into someone else.”

The hand at his elbow trailed upwards to lay on his chest, a gentle pressure over his heart.  A spark of warmth kindled at the touch and the recesses of his mind sang with the contact.  Enjolras’ smile grew.

"You can feel it too," he murmured.  "The effects of the Drift"

"The neural bridge gets stronger the more you Drift together," Grantaire told him.  "It’s the same with the Jaegers.  Like ghosts of the link after you’ve disconnected.  It’ll go away eventually."

"Oh…"  His fingers twisted in the fabric of Grantaire’s shirt.  "I see."

"Enjolras…"  He lifted his hands to curl around Enjolras’ upper arms gently.  Enjolras laughed under his breath, short and resigned, and the sound fell strangely on Grantaire’s ears.

"Courfeyrac and Jehan warned me about this," he said.  "I can’t decide if I’m happy or sad and I - I feel like I’ve lost control."

"It’s normal," Grantaire assured him, rubbing his arms soothingly.  "Right now, you’ve got me in your head as well.  It takes some getting used to.  I was a mess after I came out of my first Drift.  It gets easier."

"I know, I saw."  The hand that was clenched in his shirt spread until Enjolras’ palm was lying over Grantaire’s chest.  "Thank you."

"What for?"

Enjolras smiled, his other hand reaching up to cup Grantaire’s cheek.

"For sharing yourself with me."

  


-

  


Valjean’s office had once been some sort of treatment chamber.  Pipes, long out of use and left to rust, crawled up the faded concrete walls and along the stained ceiling.  A narrow walkway stretched in the centre of a pool of water, the use of which had been forgotten a long time ago.  The walkway led to a set of floor-to-ceiling double doors, which were open to reveal the view of Hong Kong Bay in the late afternoon sunlight.

The Marshal himself was standing by those doors when Enjolras, followed closely by Grantaire, walked in.  He was faced away from them, hands clasped behind his back, posture stiff.

"Leave the door open," he said.  

Enjolras stepped away from the door, where he had been about to pull it shut, and stopped just short of the walkway.  Grantaire stood beside him, shoulders tense.  His gaze was darting back and forth between Valjean and the open doorway, through which Javert had just entered.

"Marshal."  Javert crossed the room to stand beside Valjean.  "I have the information you requested."

"Good, I want a full report."  He turned, finally, to face the two Rangers, expression unreadable.  "Are the two of you alright?"

"Physically, we’re fine sir," Grantaire replied.  "Neither of us suffered any physical injuries in the test - the med team can attest to that."

He directed a pointed look in Javert’s direction that Valjean ignored in favour of looking over at Enjolras.  The blonde jerked his head in a quick nod of agreement with Grantaire’s report, but otherwise remained silent.  Valjean began pacing the length of floor.

"You both understand that we can’t afford to have two Rangers losing control mid-Drift, right?" he said.  "What happened today was extremely risky - anything could have happened.  One of you might have committed the weapons systems, or Apollo could have gone berserk."

"But none of that happened, sir," Grantaire protested.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the both of you out of the program and hand Apollo over to the next set of competent pilots?"

Grantaire opened his mouth to speak, but Enjolras beat him to the punch.

"Because, with all due respect  _sir_ , there are no other pilots who are able to pilot a Mark III Jaeger,” he said frankly.  ”You brought Grantaire back solely because of that reason.  And we proved that we can, in fact, form a neural bridge stronger than anything that’s ever been achieved.  We have the stats to back up that statement.”

He took a deep, steadying breath, and continued.

"Sir, according to Joly’s calculations, the next Kaiju attack is mere  _hours_  away.  If you pull us out now, there isn’t any time to find two other pilots compatible with Apollo  _and_  put them through test runs - and we can’t afford to bench a Jaeger now.  Grantaire and I - we can do this.  You know we can.”

His hand had unconsciously found Grantaire’s and was holding it in a vice-like grip as he spoke.  The faintest hint of a tremor danced across his fingers.  Grantaire looked at him in wonder.  Valjean sighed.

"Yes, Enjolras, your neural link was immeasurably strong," he agreed.  "But the two of you are still much too volatile to front the next line of defence, should Dr Joly’s calculations prove correct."

Javert nodded, a mixture of triumph and smugness gleaming in his dark eyes.  Grantaire gritted his teeth and squeezed Enjolras’ hand tighter.

"Your orders, then, sir?" Enjolras asked.  He squeezed Grantaire’s hand in return, and glanced over worriedly for a brief moment.

Valjean sighed.

"The two of you will stand as back up until further notice," he said.  "You’ll be positioned at the shoreline, away from the battle, until you are needed.  Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Grantaire replied through gritted teeth.  "Permission to be dismissed?"

A long, searching look passed between them, broken only when Valjean sighed and waved them away.

"Granted."

As soon as the word left Valjean’s lips, Grantaire was tugging Enjolras to the door.  A cursory glance over his shoulder showed Javert gaping at them, torn between fury and disbelief.  They crossed over the threshold before Enjolras pulled them to a stop and turned to close the heavy door behind him.  His lips were pressed into a thin line.

"That could have gone better," he said after a moment’s silence.  Grantaire snorted.  "But at least we haven’t been benched."

"Are you kidding me, Enjolras?  We’re  _backup_.  That’s as good as being benched.”

"Would you rather sit in your room while someone else pilots Apollo?"

Grantaire fell silent, jaw tense.  Enjolras stepped in closer to wrap his arm around Grantaire’s waist and was about to steer him away from the door when Jehan and Courfeyrac rounded the corridor, arm in arm.  Courfeyrac waved cheerily at them both as they approached.  Jehan gave him a dreamy smile.

"How’d the meeting with Valjean go?" Courfeyrac took one glance at Grantaire’s expression and winced.  "Not good?"

"We got benched," Grantaire said.

"We’re  _backup_ ,” Enjolras corrected him immediately with a glare.

"Ouch, yeah, that sucks man," Courfeyrac said, wincing.  "Happened to us once, didn’t it Jehan?  That time Rhea almost took out Zeus."

"Only because you were distracted," Jehan said.  He smiled fondly at Courfeyrac and patted his arm.  "It was pretty spectacular, though." _  
_

Courfeyrac puffed out his chest with a proud little grin.  Grantaire barely suppressed a chuckle at the unimpressed expression on Enjolras’ face, the tension falling away from his shoulders.  Jehan nudged his partner with one shoulder and murmured into his ear.  Courfeyrac nodded, slinging an arm around his waist in an intimate gesture.

"Jehan and I were heading to the cafeteria for dinner," he said.  "You guys coming?"

"Nah, I think I might just -"

"We’ll come," Enjolras said quickly.  His eyes remained fixed on Grantaire even though his body had turned towards his friends.  "I don’t think either of us has eaten since this morning anyway."

Grantaire moved to shift away from Enjolras, but the hand around his waist was firm and the tips of Enjolras’ fingers curled tight where it rested on Grantaire’s hip.  The same, warm pressure pushed him forward as their little group started down the corridor.

  


-

  


The alarm sounded at midnight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alarm has sounded.
> 
> They are coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Things got hectic IRL and there was just no time to write this chapter until now. Sorry!

The shrill cry of the alarm reverberated throughout the entire Shatterdome, waking sleepers from their dreams and jolting the wakeful into action.  The previous calm erupted into life as technicians, workers and Rangers alike moved as one seamless, well-oiled machine to their respective tasks, each knowing instinctively where they were needed.  There was a brief lull in the constant siren as the PA system crackled.

“ _Rhea Strife, Daphne Justice and Ares Victorious, report to your stations immediately_ ,” Combeferre’s voice announced.  ” _I repeat, Rhea Strife, Daphne Justice and Ares Victorious, report to your stations immediately.  This is a Code Blue_.”

Grantaire stumbled out into the corridor, hazy with sleep, just in time to see Jehan striding past with Courfeyrac, mouths set in a grim line and brows furrowed with determination.  Jehan had both hands wound in his long hair, pulling it into a severe braid as he walked.  Across the hall, Enjolras stood in his doorway, watching.

"We should head to LOCCENT first," Enjolras said.  His eyes trailed over Grantaire’s torso and a flush crept up his neck.  "You might want to put a shirt on."

Grantaire blinked, only just noticing his shirtless state.

"Right, yes."

He retreated back into his room to grab the first shirt he saw - the threadbare, standard issue grey he had been wearing that afternoon - and pulled it over his head.  By the time he was shutting his door behind him, Enjolras was already dressed and had tied back his hair.  He reached for Grantaire’s arm as he walked by, steering him down the corridor.

“ _All personnel to your stations immediately_ ,” Combeferre’s voice continued.  ” _This is a Code Blue.  Codename: Leatherback.  Category: Four_.”

"Only one?" Enjolras muttered as they walked, sounding slightly confused.  "Why is there only one?"

"The Kaiju only ever come alone," Grantaire replied.  Enjolras shook his head and gestured vaguely with his hand.

"No, that can’t be right.  Joly and Bossuet have been calculating the frequency of the events -"

"I remember."  Grantaire raised an eyebrow.  "You don’t seriously  _believe_  there’s going to be a Double Event, do you?”

Enjolras frowned.

"I’ve never known either of them to be wrong," he replied finally.  "And it’s better to be safe than sorry, especially in desperate times."

No one paused in their movements, barely acknowledging the announcements.  The Control Room was buzzing with activity as the staff hovered around the screens and relayed orders through their headsets.  At the far end of the room, in front of the main controls overlooking the entire Jaeger hangar, was Valjean.  He stood, arms folded, just behind where Combeferre was seated, looking over the other man’s shoulder.

"Marshal!" Enjolras called as they entered the room.  Valjean did not look back, but Combeferre turned in his seat.

"Enjolras, Grantaire," he said with a nod.  His gaze lingered over Enjolras’ hand, resting securely in the hook of Grantaire’s arm.  "Apollo won’t be deployed on this mission."

Grantaire’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly.  Enjolras tightened his grip on Grantaire’s arm and shot him a warning glance.

"We can provide backup," he said, directing his words to Valjean’s back.  "Marshal, those were your instructions this afternoon."

Grantaire could feel the weight of Combeferre’s gaze on him and angled himself toward Enjolras, ducking his head.  Enjolras, meanwhile, was engaged in a glaring contest with the back of Valjean’s head.  His fingers dug painfully into Grantaire’s arm.  Still, Valjean did not turn.

Combeferre cleared his throat and turned back to the control panel.  The scanners had lit up once more, flashing another warning across the screens in time with the alarms throughout the Shatterdome.  Over his shoulder, Grantaire could make out two distinct blips on the radar.

"Sir - you might want to have a look at this."  Combeferre shifted to allow room for Valjean to see the screen.  "The Breach is showing signs of activity."

"It’s a Double Event," Enjolras whispered, eyes wide.  "Joly and Bossuet were right.  It’s a Double Event!"

Grantaire could only gape wordlessly.  Combeferre returned the expression with one of shock, which was quickly replaced by grim determination.  Valjean spun around to face them, finally, eyes flashing.

"You two," he said.  "I want you both suited up and back here for the briefing in five minutes.   _Go_.”

  
  


 

-

  
  


 

The atmosphere in the Control Room was tense when they returned.  The pilots and crews had all gathered in the tiny chamber, fully suited and awaiting briefing.  Grantaire and Enjolras took their places between Rhea and Ares’ pilots, exchanging weak smiles.  Valjean and Javert were with Combeferre at the control panel, deep in discussion.  Grantaire leaned over to Bahorel.

"What’s happening?"

"Trying to decide how many Jaegers to deploy," Bahorel replied, eyes trained on the blips on the radar. 

"What do you mean ‘how many Jaegers’?" Grantaire hissed.  "We need at  _least_  three to take down two Category Fours.”

"Yes, but there are other things to consider," Cosette said.  She nodded to them from where she was standing on Feuilly’s other side, closest to Valjean.  "We only have five Jaegers left and only four deployable crews.  We can’t risk all of them in one go."

"Chronos Alpha hasn’t seen action for years," Courfeyrac explained, seeing Grantaire’s confused expression.  "And we need as many Jaegers as we can for Operation Pitfall -"

"Courfeyrac!" Javert snapped, whipping around.  "That’s enough!"

Grantaire tensed, his back straightened and his posture stiffened.  He shifted his weight from one foot to another, jaw clenching, restless despite the firm hand Enjolras had wrapped around his waist.

"Operation Pitfall?"  The words were clipped.  "What’s that?"

Courfeyrac flushed and scratched his nose, so Grantaire turned to each of his companions, but they all remained tight-lipped and silent.  He looked down, at last, to Enjolras, tucked up against his side.  Enjolras met his eyes squarely.

"There’s a pathway between our world and the world the Kaiju come from," he began.  Behind them, Javert made a noise of indignation, but was quickly silenced.  "Simply put: if we blow the tunnel, the Breach collapses."

"You’re going to attack the  _Breach_?”  Enjolras nodded.  Grantaire scanned the others’ faces and found a similar lack of surprise.  ”You all knew about this - and  _nobody told me_?”

"It was only finalised this evening," Valjean said.  "After the Research division provided a full report.  Dr Joly has been sent into the city to make the final preparations."

Grantaire rounded on Valjean, who had turned to face them during Enjolras’ explanation.  His hand, which had been gripping Javert’s shoulder, dropped to his side as Grantaire stalked up to him.

"We’re making a pre-emptive strike," Valjean said calmly.  "Attack the Breach and close it before any more of them come through."

"This isn’t what I signed up for," Grantaire replied.  His breath came in hisses, dragging from between clenched teeth.  "This is  _suicide_.  You don’t even know if you can destroy it!”

"We’ve got nuclear explosives," Combeferre said from his seat.  He regarded Grantaire with a grave expression, readjusting the position of his glasses.  "We just have to get close enough to drop them inside."

Grantaire opened his mouth, but Enjolras interrupted before he could say a word.  His tone was one of impatience and frustration.

"There are two Kaiju an hour out from here and you’re going to talk about this  _now_?”

Combeferre sighed.

"Enjolras is right.  We don’t have any time to waste.  With all due respect, sir," he addressed Valjean.  "We have two Category IV Kaiju, codenamed Leatherback and Otachi."

With one last, firm glance in Grantaire’s direction, Valjean cleared his throat, the semblance of professionalism.

"Rhea and Daphne, the two of you will front the attack," he said briskly.  "Intercept them as far out as possible, beyond the miracle mile.  Ares will be in position half a mile behind to catch them if either of them escape.  Apollo will stay by the shore as backup and  _hold the position_.”

Eight hands snapped up in a quick salute, a chorus of ‘yes, sir!’ going up around the small group.  As the pilots made to leave, Grantaire twitched, throwing glances at Combeferre, who had turned back to his computers and controls.  He bit his lip and shifted forward again, but Enjolras had his elbow and was tugging him toward the door.

"Come  _on_ , Grantaire, quickly!”

He threw another glance over his shoulder as he left, but Combeferre still did not turn around.

  
  


 

-

  
  


 

"Initiating neural handshake."

  
  


 

-  _icy winds, carrying the sting of seawater…_ _  
_

_…a blue and silver Jaeger, rising out of the water like Aphrodite birthed from the foam of the seas, charging at the Kaiju -_

_\- warm lips against his own, tender and soft; warmth curling in the pit of his stomach, an ache stirring deep within his chest…_

_…the air being squeezed from his body, leaving him breathless; his pulse quickening as the impact of the staves sent thrills down his body -_

_\- blonde hair spilling over one shoulder, wisps clinging to the nape of a pale neck, just above the round collar of the standard grey…_

_…larger hands, tight, secure, steady as they grasped his own and brought them up to meet rough, chapped lips -_

  
  


 

“ _Neural link one hundred percent and holding_ ,” Combeferre’s voice announced through the intercom.  ” _Doing well, Apollo_.”

They raised their head, flexed their hands.  Right foot forward, then left.  The Conn-Pod surged with the movement and they followed Ares through the open hangar doors.  The blood-red hue of Ares’ armour darkened and all but vanished into the depths of the awaiting sea.  If it were not for the surrounding floodlights and the aircrafts hoverin about, they would not have seen him.

“ _Catch you losers later,_ " they heard Bahorel call down the line with a boisterous laugh.  Ares was lifted out of the water, strapped to two aircrafts and headed into position.  " _Hang tight_ _, we got this._ ” _  
_

“ _Not if we get them first_ ,” Courfeyrac teased.  ” _You never know, we might not need your backup_.”

“ _Hah!  As if_.”

“ _Boys, a little concentration please_?” Musichetta’s voice cut in, sounding amused despite the exasperation.  ” _Good luck out there._ ”

They waited patiently as the sea churned around them, steady despite the push and pull of the waves.  They could hear every clamp lock in place, securing them to the aircrafts that would bear them to their designated positions, until they were lifted into the air.  Only then did they feel the drag of the water on their legs, weighing them down.

“ _Stay by the shore, Apollo_ ,” Combeferre reminded them.  ” _Hold position, regardless of what may occur_.”

In the distance, they could see Ares’ hulking figure, its heavily fortified Conn-Pod, tucked away beneath the hard shell of its armoured chest.  Beyond that, two more figures stood apart, bodies slimmer than the sheer bulk that was the Mark One Ares, streamlined and agile as was characteristic of the Marks Four and Five.

“ _Targets approaching_ ,” Combeferre announced.  ” _Coming in at one o’clock, Daphne.  No, they’ve split up - Leatherback at one o’clock.  Rhea - Otachi coming in at your nine._ ”

The blood was pounding in their ears and head, their palms were sweaty.  Grantaire could taste the fear radiating from Enjolras, the tension in the Conn-Pod palpable.

 _We’ll be fine_.  Enjolras’ eyes darted over to him and he managed a tight smile.   _We’ll be okay_.

A deafening roar thundered in the distance.  They shared one last look and took a deep breath.

_They’re here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com)


	10. Interlude: Anchorage 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Knifehead Incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I deleted the new chapter and added a few extra bits and pieces because it sounded choppy.

It started with more rigorous training in the Kwan Combat Room, trying to emulate the headiness of being completely absorbed in each other.  Every waking moment not spent in the training room was spent in each other’s presence - they ate together, practised together and during their rare leisure hours, they would take Cosette out to explore the city beyond the Shatterdome.

"Necessary bonding time," Grantaire explained, shrugging on his heavy outer jacket.  "Have to make sure we’re familiar with each other before we can Drift."

He reached for his phone on the table Combeferre was leaning against, not meeting his searching gaze.  He tensed when Combeferre’s hand brushed against his elbow and tried to ignore the flash of hurt that was quickly masked.

"It’s been three weeks."  Grantaire flinched at the biting tone.  "We haven’t so much as had a proper conversation in  _three weeks_ , Grantaire.  I understand wanting to get to know your future co-pilot - don’t give me that look,  _you know_  I do - but you’re also neglecting -“

"Neglecting  _what_ , exactly?”  Grantaire shook off the restraining hand on his arm with a scowl.  ”I wasn’t the one who walked out, Combeferre.”

He made to leave, but found Combeferre’s arm blocking his path.  That same arm wrapped itself across his chest, tugging him back, and he allowed Combeferre to rest his chin against his shoulder.

"And what was I supposed to do?" Combeferre asked quietly, resignedly, in his ear.  "You are Drift compatible.  You’re  _attuned_  to each other on a fundamental level.  You’ll be sharing each other’s minds.  And I - nothing I do could ever compare to that.”

Grantaire closed his eyes and tilted his head back to rest against Combeferre’s shoulder, their cheeks barely brushing.  He breathed deeply, falling into a natural rhythm to match Combeferre and - for a long, painful moment - allowed himself to be held.

"It could have been you."  Combeferre’s breath hitched, his arms tightened.  Grantaire clung to him in return.  "It  _should_  have been you.”

  
  


—-

  
  


They met their Jaeger for the first time, a week later.  They stood side by side on the third floor landing, already dressed in their circuitry suits, looking down over the hangar floor.

"Is this one ours?"

"He’s beautiful," Eponine murmured in awe. Her grip on Grantaire’s wrist tightened almost painfully as she watched the preparations.  "He’s  _beautiful_.”

"He is, yeah," Grantaire agreed.  Her excitement was infectious - there was a strange bubbling sensation in his stomach at the same time his palms began to sweat.  He flexed his hands.  "He really is."

Eponine grinned over the fur-lined coat of her winter jacket she’d thrown over her suit to ward off the chill.  They stood in front of the newly completed Jaeger, directly in view of its Conn-Pod, admiring its wintry blue paint job and silver plates.

"It’s the first of the Mark III Jaegers, designed with the Alaskan climate in mind, and we get to pilot it!"

Her hand slid up to grasp his forearm, eyes bright.

"Don’t you want to know what his name is?"

Her excitement was infectious and he found himself matching her grin.

"Well, go on then.  Tell me."

She gestured to the name that was emblazoned in silver across its breastplate, glinting in the sunlight like a newly minted coin.  

“ _Apollo Retribution_.”

  
  


—-

  
  


Being inside Eponine’s mind was like being thrown into a storm-tossed sea.  Every flitter of emotion, every insecurity, every thought pushed and pulled at his own until he could not be certain which memories were his and which were not.  He came out of the first Drift dizzy and weak at the knees, overwhelmed by the depth of her passion and the ferocity of her anger.

She pulled off her helmet and grinned at him, dark eyes feverishly bright.

"What did you think?"

He sprawled out on the floor, propped up against the wall of the Conn-Pod and legs akimbo and returned her grin.

“ _Brilliant.”_

She tossed her head back and laughed.

Drifting with Eponine within Apollo, feeling the Jaeger move at just the slightest twitch of a finger, was nothing short of glorious.  It was as if raw power surged through his veins and fed into their shared mind and there was a sense of being wholly complete for the first time in his life that was more addictive than even the adrenaline rush from the fight.

"Five kills under our belts now," she said cheerfully, helmet tucked under one arm.  "Time to make it a sixth, wouldn’t you say?"

"S’got to be some sort of record we’re holding - cleanest consecutive kills or something," Grantaire replied.  He shook his dark hair away from his line of vision, straightening his posture to allow Combeferre to attach the spinal clamp.  "God knows we probably do a better job than Ares."

"I wouldn’t get too cocky," Combeferre warned.  The helmet was fitted over Eponine’s head and the fluid started draining away as soon as it clicked into place.  "Don’t get careless."

"I would never."  He glanced over Combeferre’s shoulder at Eponine, meeting her wicked grin with one of his own.  "We’ll always win."

  
  


—-

  
  


“ _Kaiju incoming at three o’clock_.”

They shifted, limbs dragging heavily through the churning waters.  Their eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for a hint of the soft blue glow that the beast had been emanating when it had first breached the surface, but the ocean remained dark, its waves white-tipped as they crashed against Apollo’s heavy-set body.

"Who would’ve thought that visibility would be lower in the day time," Eponine muttered, her right hand flexing on the controls.  "Kaiju Blue stands out when it’s dark."

"Hey, at least it’s not raining," Grantaire replied cheerfully.  He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.  "Target spotted. Brace for impact."

The Kaiju was larger than any they had ever faced.   _Category IV_ , Combeferre had said,  _the first ever_.  Its head broached the surface of the water first, flat crown sharpening to a deadly point from its forehead, settled between its two beady, glowing eyes.  Its wide-ridged jaw gave way to a thick, leathery neck and an immense torso.

 _Knifehead_.

“ _Watch out for the head and arms_ ,” Combeferre said quietly in their ear.  ” _If it catches you in its grip, it’ll be hard to get free_.”

"Right, okay, head and arms."  Eponine released a long, low whistle.  "We can do that, right?  Category IV - no problem."

The Kaiju struck first, lunging for their left side, heavy-set jaws gaping so that the toxic blue glow within its cavernous mouth was in full display as its head barrelled forward.  They sidestepped the point and deflected the sharp point smoothly with one arm, bringing their right fist down upon the top of its exposed head in a forceful blow.

It stumbled forward, but caught its balance quickly, whipping its head about in a low sweep aimed at their hip.  They parried the blow with both arms but the Kaiju was faster, thrusting forward in short, sharp jabs.  It caught Apollo in the left shoulder.

"Activate plasma cannon," Grantaire shouted, straining forward to reach the weapons control panel while holding on as the Conn-Pod shook with the force of the blow.  The computer glowed with the command.

“ _Plasma cannon activated._ ”

They raised their right arm, the hand rapidly folding away to reveal the head of the cannon pulsing as it charged.  With their left hand, now caught between the Kaiju’s jaws, they pulled its entire body upright and swooped down to discharge the cannon into the creature’s abdomen.

_One.  Two.  Three._

Eponine counted under her breath as each shot was fired, a look of intense concentration on her face.  Her breath fogged up the window of her helmet, only to be quickly dispersed by the ventilation system.  They watched with bated breath as the Kaiju slumped, a deep gouge in its side from the cannon blasts leaking toxic Blue down its torso and darkening the ocean waters, and stepped back.  Its body sunk below the surface of the water.  Neither of them moved for a long, tense minute, fixed on the patch of darkened water where the Kaiju had fallen, the blood pounding in their ears.  Finally, Eponine released a shuddering breath.

"We’re done here…I think," she said softly.  "Do you think we should check?"

"I’m sure it’s fine, we got it pretty good," Grantaire said.  "LOCCENT?"

“ _We’re getting no life signs on this end_ ,” Combeferre reported.  He laughed weakly.  ” _Good job, Apollo_.” _  
_

"Alright, time to head back then," Grantaire said with a tired grin.

They turned around, trudging through the waters back to shore when a rapid beeping started up on the screen and Combeferre's panicked voice was heard over the intercom.

“ _Six o’clock!  Target is still alive_ ,” he said.  ” _Repeat, target is alive and coming in on your rear, fast!_ ”

They had barely managed to turn back around when the Kaiju was upon them, throwing itself completely out of the water and leaping onto Apollo’s towering frame.  Its clawed hands held their arms fast, outstretched, while the point of its head cut right through their left shoulder.

Grantaire screamed as a blinding pain erupted in the nerve endings in his arm, trailing off into a hoarse gasp as their left arm was completely severed and flung into the distance.  The Kaiju began tearing at their armour with teeth and arms, ripping at the plated breast piece by piece.  They were caught.  Eponine sprung for the weapons control panel, one hand clenched tightly on the hand controls, ready to strike.

"Activate right plasma cannon!" she shouted, raising their right arm.

She froze as the Kaiju’s features came into view, scant metres away from the front of the Conn-Pod.  From this distance, its forked tongue could be clearly seen curling inside its mouth each time it pulled back to toss aside fragments of steel, working almost methodologically.  She swallowed, hard, and turned to Grantaire.

"Grantaire?"  His eyes were glassy with pain and he paid no heed.  She tried again, willing away the wavering note in her voice.  "Grantaire–"

He turned to her just as the Kaiju let out an ear-splitting shriek, immediately followed by a crash that shook the entire Conn-Pod.  They were flung violently around in the rigging as the Kaiju’s head rammed over and over again into the window of the Conn-Pod.  Grantaire groaned as he was tossed about, but it snapped him out of his pain-induced reverie enough so that he finally focused his eyes on her.

"Grantaire?" Eponine shouted again, holding on for dear life.  "Grantaire I want you to listen to me–"

The end of her sentence was cut short as the Conn-Pod ripped apart.  He caught Eponine’s eyes, wide with shock and blood roaring in his ears, just as the Kaiju wrenched upward with its head and she was bodily ripped away from her harness and tossed into the air.

He screamed.

Her body was still airborne, sailing in an arch, until it was snatched from midair like a tiny, limp doll.  Straight into the Kaiju’s waiting jaws.

His mind fizzled ... and blanked.

He kept screaming.

  
  


—-

  
  


Combeferre was waiting from him once Apollo had docked, pushing his way to the front of the cheering crowd.  His eyes widened in dismay as he surveyed the damage done to the Jaeger, but dissolved quickly into relief when the familiar head of black curls stumbled into view.

"Grantaire!" he called.  Grantaire turned and waved weakly, although his left hand remained clamped onto his injured side.  The suit was stained a rust coloured red from where the Kaiju’s claws had torn into the Conn-Pod.

"Combeferre."  His next words were cut off when Combeferre reached out and pulled him into a bone-crushingly tight embrace.  "Combeferre?  What happened?"

"You could have died."

The words were soft and his voice muffled against Grantaire’s curls, but he felt them pressed into his skin where Combeferre’s lips were against his neck.

"I’m sorry."

He curled his free hand around Combeferre’s shoulder and held on tight, willing the sudden tremors away.  Combeferre’s arms tightened around him and he rested his cheek against the top of his head.  The gouge in his side ached with a vengeance and made his head spin, the material of the circuitry suit quickly soaking through with blood.  His knees buckled.

"I think…" he began with a strangled gasp.  Combeferre pulled away with a frown.  "…I think I need - a  _medic_.”

Combeferre waved the medic team, already hovering nearby, over and helped them lower Grantaire onto a stretcher.  He was almost delirious with blood loss, eyes glassy and face ashen, but his hold on Combeferre’s arm was vice-like.

"Grantaire?" Combeferre asked softly, leaning closer.  "What is it?"

Grantaire’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a moment as the medics struggled to cut him out of his suit.  His breaths came in shallow gasps as he struggled to form the words.

 _"Did we win_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)


End file.
